


Ghost of Christmases Past

by brimstonegold, virtualpersonal



Series: The Best Gift Of All Verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Christmas, Curtain Fic, Dean is a dad, Domestic, Holiday, Hunter Dean, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mechanic Dean, References to Past Domestic Abuse, Romance, Sam is a Dad, Sexy Times, Violence, non hunter sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brimstonegold/pseuds/brimstonegold, https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualpersonal/pseuds/virtualpersonal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester family is gearing up for a peaceful Christmas season and for their first anniversary of when they met, but someone has other, darker plans for them. This is a timestamp or follow up to our Best Gift Verse and takes place one year after Dean took Sam and Emily in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=1z4vk94)  
>  Our thanks to for allowing us to modify the lovely x-mas fic banner she made.
> 
> Co-written with Brimstonegold

"There are no dark shadows, no baddies, and definitely no ghosts walking around the house. It was just a dream. Come on Em, let's get your coat and get you to school. You let Dean worry about saving the world, okay?" Sam said, heading to the clothes hook next to the door. "You just worry about homework. It's on the table," he gently reminded her.

"But I know what I saw. It was big and dark and... Daddy, it wasn't a dream. It was right over you and... and..."

"And Dean has the house locked down tight, with salt, and every other protection." Holding her coat open, Sam waited for her to grab her school work and walk over to him, where he helped her get the coat on. "It was a dream. I promise you," Sam said, buttoning her up and then giving her a hug. "Did you pick up your trip permission slip?" he asked, knowing that the reminder that her class was going to Santa's Village in a couple days would get her mind off the nightmare.

"Got it!" Slipping her hand into his, she walked out and down the porch stairs, but then pulled away. "I'm gonna say bye to Popsie," she announced, running toward the garage bay without giving Sam the chance to argue.

Shaking his head, Sam watched until she was safely inside and he saw Dean through the doors, before starting the car and turning it around.

Dean yawned and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd been up all night getting the finishing touches done on the restoration of the VW Beetle that the owner wanted to be able to pick up that afternoon. The propane heaters kept the garage bay warm throughout the cold South Dakota night and Dean had frankly been surprised when the morning sunlight began creeping in through the frosted windows. Hearing the car start up, he glanced at his watch. It was already time for Emily to go to school? He shook his head. He was done with the restoration except for putting a final polish on the re-chromed bumpers, then he could crash until lunchtime.

The door to the garage creaked open and let the bitter cold into the warm bay.

"Hey Munchkin," Dean said, though he couldn't actually see her from his position. "Sorry I missed breakfast with you. Was your daddy cranky this morning?"

"How did you know?" she exclaimed, running up to him and looking up. "Maybe you should tickle him when he gets back. I'd help, but I gotta go to school," she said, reaching up.

Dean scooped her up into his arms. "Because he doesn't like it when I pull an all-nighter. Because your daddy is a worry-wort. He'll probably have to tickle me to even get me awake when he gets back. Geez kiddo, if you keep growing like this, in another six months you're gonna be too big to throw over my shoulder any more. You did all your homework, right?"

Closing her arms around his neck, she laughed happily, nodding in agreement. "Uh hmm, I did it. And I didn't forget it at home, this time," she said, her fingers clenching a little tighter around her papers.

"Emily!"

Her head snapped toward the door, then she leaned in and gave Dean a big kiss. "Don't tell Daddy I told you but... I saw broccoli in the fridge," she whispered. 

Dean grinned at the little girl. "It's our secret. Thanks for the warning. Guess I'll have to cook tonight unless I want your sneaky daddy putting broccoli in my dinner, huh?" Giving her a loud sloppy kiss on her cheek, he carried her near to the door and put her down. "Have a good day at school. No kissing the boys. They have cooties and I don't want you coming home with cooties all over you." He gave her a final hug before lightly swatting her bottom, then waving at Sam through the window.

"Ewww." She wrinkled her nose and started to run off. When she reached the door, she turned around. "Can you check the salt tonight? I don't think Daddy checked last night."

"Em...," Sam leaned out the window. "We're going to be late."

Giving Dean a quick wave, she ran around to the other side of the car and waited until Sam opened it for her. As Sam got her buckled in, her gaze was on Dean, inside the garage.

Dean gave the girl a reassuring smile and wave, though he was frowning on the inside. She didn't usually ask about the salt unless she was having nightmares. He'd triple check the salt. Maybe it was time to call in that favor and get Emily a real dreamcatcher, one that really would help keep the nightmares out. She'd been doing pretty well, though, or at least, he thought she had. Realizing Sam had pulled the car up so he was on Dean's side, Dean strode quickly to the car and its open window. "Hey, good-looking, how about a smack-a-roo before you disappear into the sunrise?"

"You know I'll be back in ten," Sam answered, smiling as he leaned out to collect the kiss. Dean's tongue had barely penetrated past his teeth when he pulled back, glancing at Emily, then back at Dean. "Hold that thought. I'll wake you if you've passed out on the couch," he teased, rolling his eyes when he realized the song Em was humming was the kissing song. "Love you," he muttered, throwing the car into gear the moment Dean stepped away, and checking him out in the rear view mirror before he pulled out of the yard and onto the road.

* * *

"I'll get you something to eat," Sam offered, seeing Dean was laying on the sofa and half watching T.V. "You've probably had a whole pot of coffee overnight, want some tea?" Shrugging his coat off and hanging it up by the door, he cocked his head.

Dean gave a yawn. Sam was right. Too much caffeine. Even though he was whipped, he couldn't fall asleep. "Mmm, nah. How about some milk? And maybe french toast and bacon? Were the roads clear? Munchkin get off to school okay?"

"Not bad, though it looks like a storm might be coming in." He took a couple steps then turned. "Wait, did you say milk?" Laughing in disbelief, he headed to the kitchen. "How about scrambled eggs and bacon? I saved you some," he said. It'd be faster.

"What? I drink milk sometimes," Dean protested, pushing himself upright and running a hand over his face. He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Eggs and bacon are good. Toast too. And no slipping that damned broccoli into the eggs."

"What broccoli?" Frowning, Sam got to work, warming up Dean's breakfast and getting him some milk. "You know something, you're paranoid." Yeah, he completely ignored the fact that the bottom drawer of the fridge in fact had some of that offending vegetable, that Dean would not even notice when pureed in soup.

"You went shopping last. I know there's gotta be broccoli in the fridge. Besides, the Imp loves that disgusting stuff." Dean pushed himself to his feet and headed through the dining room to stand in the doorway of the kitchen. "Has she been having any nightmares lately?"

"She says 'no,' but I think she's keeping it from me." Sam threw a worried look at Dean. "Maybe it's because last year at this time..." he gave a helpless shrug. "She's getting all protective of me, and all I want... all I want is for her to be a kid and just worry about herself, not me. This isn't how it's supposed to be." Burning his hand on the toaster, he cursed under his breath.

"Might not be how it's supposed to be but, when I was a kid, I worried about my dad and got protective of him. I'll see if I can worm it out of her. If she's being protective of you and not wanting you to know, maybe she'll tell me." Pushing off the door frame he walked over to Sam, took hold of the hand he'd just burned and kissed it lightly. "We could have a little celebration. One year ago tomorrow is when you guys came into my life. Made it all crazy and topsy-turvy and I've loved every minute of it. Cause of you and Em."

"I can't believe you remember that." It surprised the hell out of Sam. He knew how romantic Dean could be, but a guy who remembered the day he met you? "Best day of my life, not that I knew it back then," Sam said. "Let's do that, dinner out, and then I can, you know, thank you for walking into our lives." Sam leaned in and kissed Dean, his hands wandering down Dean's back, and automatically moving one arm across Dean's lower back, gripping his hip and pushing just so. The sound of bones shifting and cracking, and Dean's surprised expression, had Sam laughing softly. "Still not used to it, huh." 

"I should be, after almost a year of you making popcorn of my bones. And how could I forget it? Wanna go to the diner where we first saw each other? Not that you probably noticed me at the time. Your eyes were always on Em, teaching her to add and subtract with pennies." Dean gave Sam a fond smile as he ran his own hands over Sam's back.

"Oh, I noticed you alright. Just... Didn't dream I'd have a shot at getting with you, even in other circumstances. Course that was before you opened your mouth. I mean you were a little... gruff when you did speak to me. Good gruff," he said quickly, about to kiss him, but remembering the bread and pulling away to get it out of the toaster. "You've been working too hard, think you can take a couple days off?" he asked, knowing if there were any accidents because of the weather it would be out of the question.

Dean chuckled, pleased Sam had noticed him. "I'm always bitchy when I'm hurting and tired." Dean sat down at the table where Sam had already poured him a glass of milk. "Yeah, I can take a few days off from restorations, but you know if a snowstorm is coming in, I'll probably be headed out. Tomorrow night at dinner, promise I won't leave in the middle unless it's like a fifty car pile up or something. And I haven't been working too hard. The one they're picking up today was a rush job. You know I wouldn't have been out in the garage overnight if it hadn't been. Would have rather been in bed with you." He gave a big yawn. "To sleep, at least part of the time."

"Sleep, huh." Sam gave a snort and set Dean's plate down in front of him. "I think you should take a big long nap today. Get your strength up, you know?" He kissed the side of Dean's neck, then pulled up abruptly. "Why'd you do that?" he asked, perplexed as he stared at the shelves. Squeezing Dean's shoulder, he walked across the room to pick up the pictures that had been laid flat on the shelf, standing them up again. 

"I intend to. After I eat," Dean said tilting his head a little to give Sam more access. He frowned when those warm, soft lips were no longer on him. "Do what?" Dean asked, turning and seeing what Sam was talking about. "I didn't touch them. You know I let you do all the decorating and dusting. Maybe Munchkin was looking at them and got distracted?" he suggested. Wouldn't be the first time Emily didn't put things back in place.

Sam glanced at a nearby chair. He supposed she could have pulled it over and climbed up to look at the pictures, she did seem to love them. "I guess." Fixing them, he returned to the table. "She's so excited about the class trip to Santa's Village. I tried to volunteer to go with them but they were full up on the number of adults they'd take on the bus. You think I should go separately?"

"Depends. You want to go to be with her, or go because you're afraid of her being 'alone'?" Dean asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer to his question. He scooped up some eggs then took a big bite of toast. 

Sam gave a wry smile. "You gotta ask?" The silence told him what he already knew. He looked down at his hand, his fingers drumming on the table. "Maybe she's not the only one feeling protective."

Dean smirked at Sam and gave a nod. "Why don't you take your massage chair out there and give the workers some free massages on the day she'll be there, maybe drum up some new business for you in the process. That way, you're there if she needs you, but you're not right there-there, if you know what I mean."

"Maybe I will." Sam looked up. "I love you."

"How can you not?" Dean asked, but he gave Sam a look plainly telling him he felt the same.

* * *

As he headed down the stairs, Sam heard Em's in-drawn breath and expected to see her afraid of something on TV. Instead, he found her looking at him from the living room, her face practically drained of blood. "What's wrong?" he asked, taking the stairs faster.

She shook her hands, like she was screaming silently. "Daddy... Daddy hurry.... Daddy!"

He took the last three stairs at once and crossed the room to get to her, where she was standing between the sofa and the coffee table, her little stool knocked over. "Right here," he said, reaching for her and picking her up. He glanced at the TV and saw she was watching something on Disney and it looked tame. Holding her close, he stroked her hair. "You're shaking, Em." When he pulled back, he saw she was focused on the stairs. "Emily?"

Shaking her head, she buried her face in Sam's shoulders and held him tight.

"Honey, whatever it is, you can tell me," he said, frowning.

She looked up, looked around and whispered. "It's okay now."

He could feel her heart racing and knew damned well it wasn't fine. "Can you tell me what happened that wasn't okay?" he asked softly, feeling helpless when she shook her head 'no.' "Did you fall asleep?" he asked, thinking she might have been awakened by a nightmare.

She shook her head again. "No."

Sighing, Sam set her down. "How about I get you a small snack while I get dinner started?"

"Cookies?"

The hopeful look in her eyes and her tone had him laughing. She'd already had cookies earlier and he usually didn't let her have more before dinner. Dean wasn't the only one wrapped around her little finger, though. "Alright, milk and a single cookie, it is." The smile was wiped away from his face the moment he headed for the kitchen and she came scurrying after him, like she couldn't bear to be alone.

It was the same for the rest of the afternoon. She did her homework in the kitchen as he cooked, then followed him to the spare room where he had his massage equipment. She stayed with him as he cleaned and prepared. Though she watched TV, he kept feeling her watching him. He tried a few more times to find out what was wrong, but got nowhere with his questions.

When she followed him up and down the stairs several times while he took care of the laundry, he really started to worry. He was so worried he didn't question her when she claimed not to have moved not only the pictures downstairs, but the ones in his own bedroom. The first time he saw the fear in her eyes dissipate was when they heard the front door opening and she raced out to the hallway, to the stairs, though she waited for Sam there while looking through the banisters.

"The handsome one is home!" Dean called out, lugging in bags. "I brought goodies!" He saw Emily peeking at him between the railing. "No pouncing on Popsie while he has bags he's bringing in," he told her mock-sternly, though she hadn't moved. She looked...relieved and that made his big smile falter. Setting the bags down, he strode quickly to the stairs, grabbing a salt-filled shotgun on the way. "Em, everything okay? Where's Sam?"

She nodded, smiling a little when she saw the gun in his hand, then looked up behind her.

"Dean," Sam grabbed Emily's hand and started down the stairs, giving Dean a questioning look when he saw the shot gun. "You going somewhere?" Maybe Dean had been called away. It had been a long time since he'd had to leave home for a hunt.

Slipping her hand out of Sam's, Emily bounded away, jumped to the bottom step, then running to Dean. "You're not going away, are you?" she asked, looking up intently at him. "You have to stay."

"No, not going anywhere except to finish unloading the car," he said, kneeling and wrapping an arm around Em's slender waist. "Emily, you looked like something was wrong when I came in. What's going on--" Dean, stopped mid-sentence when Sam suddenly came tumbling down the stairs with a startled cry. "Sammy!" Dean yelled, forcing his bad leg to get him back on his feet and over to Sam. 

Biting back the curses that came to his lips, Sam pushed himself up onto his hands and looked up at the stairs, searching for what had tripped him. "I'm okay. I'm fine, just fine," he said the phrases that came to him like rote, reassuring not only his daughter this time, but his husband.

At Dean's side, Emily pushed on the butt of the rifle Dean was holding, making the barrel point up the stairs, looking up at Dean with a question in her eyes, then dropping down next to Sam. "Where did you get hurted, Daddy?" 

As she reached to touch his face, Sam grimaced. "Nowhere. Just a little tumble. Dean, could you..." he nodded toward Emily. "I didn't break anything," he said meeting Dean's intense gaze. 

"I've got Sam, Emily. You go in the kitchen and fill a baggie with ice, wrap it in a hand towel, and bring it back out. I'm going to get Sam to the couch and check him over, okay?" Dean said gently but firmly. He gave Sam a warning look to just keep his mouth shut. "My turn to help you to the couch, clumsy," he said to him, but kept the gun in one hand as he offered Sam a hand up.

She stepped back but didn't move until she saw her dad get up, and then she practically ran to the kitchen.

Sam gave a sheepish smile and let go of Dean's hand. He took a step, and when he took the next, he winced. He'd banged his ankle hard against the edge of a stair. When Dean moved in to help him, Sam gave a small snort. "It's fine, really," but he didn't argue and allowed Dean to help him to the sofa. "I messed up your surprise," he said, nodding toward the bags Dean had dropped.

"Better messing up my surprise than you getting messed up on the stairs, besides it's nothing big. Dude, it is so going to look like I beat you up," Dean said, shaking his head as he set the gun down and grabbed a couple tissues from the box and began carefully wiping the blood off of Sam's face. "Put pressure here. Facial cuts bleed like a bitch. The cut's small, but you're bleeding like a stuck pig." 

After Sam took over holding the tissues in place, Dean pulled up the cuff of Sam's jeans and looked at the ankle. "Ouch. It's already swelling some. Let me get this over with now," he said, gently running his hands down Sam's leg, slowing as he reached the ankle. He heard Sam's breath hitch but gave a satisfied nod. "Nothing seems broken. Could be you chipped or cracked a bone. If it's still swollen tomorrow night, we'll take you in for x-rays the next morning." After he pulled Sam's shoe off, he grabbed a pillow from the couch and set Sam's ankle on it ever so carefully. By then, Emily had returned, her eyes filled with worry.

"He's fine Emily. I think he's just a little bumped and bruised. Lay that ice on his ankle, then go get the small medical kit out of the guest bathroom. Some alcohol wipes and bandaids, and your dad will be almost as good as new."

Sam gave her an encouraging smile. "Just a little cut, nothing to worry about." When she walked away to do as Dean asked, Sam touched the cut on his face. "I didn't realize I was bleeding. I never wanted her to see me like this again and then... then I'm fucking tripping over my own feet. I'd kick myself if it didn't hurt so much." He made a face as Dean placed the ice against his ankle. "Sorry. For giving both of you a scare."

"Don't sweat it, Sam. Accidents happen. But it looks like you're going to have a little bit of a fat lip and bruising along the side of your face. And I'm guessing your chest is going to be a little tender, and your knees." Sliding his cold hand under Sam's shirts, he grinned when Sam flinched back from his cold touch. "Just checking to make sure you're not bleeding...and warming my hand up," he said as he quickly ran his palm over Sam's chest. "No blood. Good. Ribs feel okay?" he asked then ran his hand up Sam's pants leg to each knee, making sure there was no blood or swelling. "Mmm, think you've busted open this knee a little and it feels a little swollen. Probably should clean it out, slap a bandage on it, and put a little ice on it, and maybe the side of your face could use some ice. You are officially out of commission for tonight and keeping your butt planted on the couch."

Unused to having his injuries tended to, Sam merely mumbled or grunted out his answers as Dean inspected him. The last made him smile. "Whatever you say, just don't look so worried. Both of you," he added, when Emily came back to his side. "That's kind of an order."

Glancing at Dean, Emily turned back and gave what was patently a forced smile.

"That's my girl," Sam said, smiling back at her and then letting Dean finish cleaning him up. "Em and I made one of your favorites for dinner, but after that trick of yours, sticking your cold hands on my stomach, not sure you deserve it."

A little laugh broke out of Emily, who put her hand on Dean's arm. "Popsie can be tricky, too."

"Yeah, yeah he can. Just... no tickling for a couple days, both of you." Catching Dean's eyes, Sam gave him a smile. "Fat lip, I'm sure it looks great," he said feeling it sting.

"Cheaper than getting one of those lip jobs to make your lips all pouty and plump," Dean said, winking at him. "No lemon in your ice tea, no orange juice in the morning either. Hope what you made me isn't too salty. Chili? Meatloaf? Cheeseburgers?" Dean asked, wondering what it was. After all, he had a lot of favorites. It smelled great whatever it was and his stomach rumbled loudly. "Guess I sort of missed lunch today," he said sheepishly. "Em, you keep your dad company. I'll go make sure nothing's burning, then finish bringing in the stuff from the car, then you can help me set the TV trays up and we'll eat in here tonight so your dad can keep his ankle up."

"We can eat here? Yay!"

Sam shook his head. "Why do I feel like this is one big conspiracy between the two of you?" he asked, knowing they both loved dinners in front of the TV, though he usually insisted they eat at the dining room table. "Meatloaf and baked potatoes are in the oven. I didn't get to dessert. I guess we can do ice cream." Another loud 'yay' from his daughter had him grinning again. "Don't make me smile Imp." The sound of her giggles couldn't be sweeter to Sam's ears. He patted the place on the sofa next to him.

"I got dessert handled," Dean said with a smile. "Sorta healthy, even if it doesn't have broccoli in it." Seeing the question in both their eyes Dean refused to say anything else. He whistled as he carried the bags into the kitchen, checked dinner, then ran back outside to bring in some more bags. Rumsfeld followed him in on the last trip, shaking snow everywhere inside the front door.

Dean sighed. "And I wonder why I can't keep freaking salt lines at the doors. Geez, Rummy, you coulda waited and sprayed the snow all over Sam."

"Very funny, Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Making himself busy in the kitchen, Dean quickly put groceries in the fridge or freezer, and some wrapped packages he hid up high in the cupboards, then dished dinner out on plates. "Emily!" he called. "Get the trays set up. I got a rental movie for us to watch tonight, too."

Emily went to get the trays and dragged them over. Sam helped her get them opened up, unsurprised that she kept telling him she could do it herself. She was getting so independent. As they talked, he saw that she'd bounced back, that she was no longer worried or afraid. That was until he asked her to go upstairs and change into her pajamas, then suddenly she was refusing and getting teary eyed as she tugged on the hem of her dress.

"Emily, come here," he said softly. "Come sit." But she just stood there.

Sam lowered his leg from the coffee table and started to get up.

Dean was headed in with two plates and silverware. "Hey kiddo, go get the glasses of ice tea, would you?" he asked Emily as he came into the living room and set down Emily's and Sam's plates and pulled their silverware and napkins from his pocket. He saw Emily's eyes glittering with almost-tears and Sam starting to get up. "Sam, sit down," he ordered a little more sharply than he meant to, but he didn't want Sam up on that ankle. His voice turn more gentle when he asked. "Em, what's wrong?"

"Watch my daddy. Promise," she begged Dean. "So I can get my jammies."

For a moment, Sam closed his eyes, then he opened them again, sitting back. "We'll get your pajamas later. Just ... Please Em, tell us what's wrong."

She shifted her weight, tugging harder on her dress. "I don't want anything to happen to you and... and Rumsfeld moved the salt. It won't stay. It blows away or, or..." She shrugged.

"Wait, you're not afraid to go upstairs?" Sam asked.

She shook her head 'no,' and determinedly walked to the stairs and started walking up them, her eyes on her dad and her popsie.

"I'll stay right here until you get back," Dean promised the young girl. Once she had disappeared from view Dean blew out a breath. "Dammit," he muttered. "I guess little Miss Big Ears has heard too much about hunting and is putting the pieces together. Thinks there are monsters after you or something. Did I tell you she asked about the salt? I told her it was an old superstition my Uncle Bobby believed. That salt at the door keeps bad things out. She wanted to make sure Santa could still get in."

"She asked me how my shooting lessons were going," Sam said, taking Dean's hand. "Dean are we giving her nightmares? Oh God..." 

Dean sat down next to Sam. "No, I don't think we are. Christmas is the anniversary of an awfully big upheaval for both of you last year and then Dex kidnapped you and everything...I'm sure it's just all coming back...you know it was the day she went to see Santa that Dex showed up. You said she's been excited about going to Santa's Village. It's probably just all of that in her subconscious. I'll bet everything will be okay by the time Christmas gets here." Dean put his arm around Sam's shoulder and kissed him on the temple. 

"Yeah. I guess." Turning his head, Sam kissed Dean, not caring about a little stinging where his lip was cut. "I thought she was having nightmares, but she keeps denying it. And when she has them, she's usually too frightened to be alone. She's not scared, not for herself. I don't know how to convince her everything is fine, I just don't know." He could hear her running down the hall overhead and couldn't help smiling a little. "She'll be down here in a second and then it'll be like nothing ever happened."

"Start by not falling down the stairs again anytime soon," Dean teased. "As soon as she's down here, I'll finish bringing in dinner and put in the rental. It's called "Bolt" about some dog that gets lost and finds his way back to his girl or something. No bad guys or anything, at least, that's what Roberta at the store said. Maybe I should have picked up a Christmasy something for her instead..."

"Funny," Sam huffed, though he did feel foolish about tripping over nothing. "You did good. With Bolt, I mean. She's mentioned wanting to see it." They heard her shouting 'yay' and he rolled his eyes. "Big ears. Very big ears." Her laughter was the best thing he'd heard, and looking at Dean's wide grin, he could tell it was the same for him. "You know, when she grows up and figures out her popsie will do anything for her, we'll be in big trouble."

"She won't be thrilled when I don't let her date anyone until she's like thirty," Dean said, tilting his head back and seeing her in her jammies clomping down the stairs. "Okay, now sit down before dinner gets cold. Cold is to be saved for dessert and the homemade ice cream maker I bought. Don't worry Sammy, you can make healthy frozen fruit things when you're in charge of it." He smiled at Emily's shriek of delight at the news. "And of course I picked up apple pie. Now, I'll go get the rest of the stuff." Dean squeezed Sam's hand and stood up, retrieving the movie and putting it in the player and handing Sam the remote. "Back in a flash. And for the record," he leaned down and whispered in Sam's ear. "I like plump lips. Just saying."

Emily dove onto the sofa, taking Dean's place.

As Sam worked the remote, he felt her gaze and turned to find her inches away, peering at him. He raised his brow and was sorry for it.

"You're pink. What did popsie say?"

"I am not."

"Uh huh, you are," she said shaking her head.

"And you see too much. Why don't you start eating." When she didn't respond, he added, "It's those cookies, isn't it? I should never let you--"

Just like that, she sank her fork into the meat that Dean had cut up for her and stuffed it into her mouth. "Not too full," she said, speaking around her food.

"I see that. Good." He lifted his gaze as Dean walked up and sat on her other side, pulling the tray close to him. "Everyone ready?" He hit the start button, stole a glance at Dean and started eating.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean carried a sleepy Emily upstairs, Sam following much more slowly because of his sore ankle. Sam walked into her room and helped to tuck her in, giving her a kiss and then walking to the door.   
Emily fought her sleepiness and opened her eyes to look at Dean. "Don't forget," she said softly.

Dean furrowed his brows. "Don't forget what, Munchkin? Keeping an eye on your dad to keep him safe?" His eyebrows lifted as he recalled what he had promised her that morning. “To check all the salt lines. Yes, I will double and even triple check, okay?" He walked over to her window and saw that she had apparently added extra salt to her window sill since the sill itself couldn't even be seen for all the salt. "All good here. I'll check all the others, too. Promise."

"Okay. Night," she said, the smile slipping off her face as she closed her eyes and quickly fell asleep.

Sam met Dean's eyes but didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Slowly, he turned and headed to their room, knowing Dean would keep his word to Emily and walk the house before he came to bed.  
Dean headed down the stairs, picking up a bag of salt by the door, and added some salt to the lines at the doors, double-checked all the windows, and put a fresh line in front of the fireplace. He carried the bag up and put a line of salt across Emily's doorway, then one across the doorway of their own bedroom. "That ought to keep her happy," Dean said as he began to pull off his shirt.

From the bathroom, where he was brushing his teeth, Sam gave a nod and spit out the toothpaste. Rinsing his mouth, he turned around and grabbed a towel to dry his mouth and face. "Did you feel it?"

"Feel what?" Dean asked as he tossed his shirt into the clothes hamper Sam had put in their room. "Yes! Two points," he murmured as he swished the shot.

Grinning at his antics, Sam walked to the doorway, filling it. "Earthquake. Didn't think we got those here," he said, pushing away from the frame and gingerly stepping away from it. He'd peeled his own shirt off and now started to undo his pants. 

"Baby, the ground always moves when you and I are together," Dean said, stepping closer to Sam. "So when was this earthquake? Sure you weren't thinking of me and it just shook your world?"

"I might'a been doing that." Sam gave him a smile. "I think we should test the theory." Reaching out, he stroked Dean's chest and felt a familiar heat washing through him. "In fact, I'm sure we should," he said, moving into Dean's arms and mumbling, "Careful," right before their mouths met. Winding his arms around Dean's broad shoulders, Sam brought one hand up to cup the back of Dean's head and kissed him with everything he had.  
Not to be outdone, Dean kissed him back as passionately, holding back only enough not to crush his mouth against Sam's injured lip. When they finally came up for air, Dean pulled him close, careful not to hug too tightly, and whispered in his ear, "Yeah, that _definitely_ shook my world. How about you?" 

"Earth moved. Definitely," he answered, tugging Dean toward the bed. "Six point five, at least. Why don't we try for a mega-quake. You did get your nap today," he teased.

"That I did. And had plenty of caffeine and sugar." Dean reached between them and finished what Sam had started, unbuttoning and unzipping Sam's jeans as he let Sam guide him toward the mattress. "But I'm not sure we can reach mega-quake what with your bruising."

Dropping his gaze to watch Dean's hands on him, Sam looked back up, his eyes brimming with desire. "I can _take it_."

"Course you can," Dean answered, gently running his hands along Sam's sides and abdomen, then sliding them both down Sam's hips, working his jeans lower. "I like to bite, wrap my fingers in your hair, and I like it when we get rough and wild sometimes, but," he leaned in and feathered kisses over Sam's bruised chest, "not when you're already hurt." He paused at Sam's nipple and ran his tongue around and around it, feeling it grow hard.

Sam's indrawn breath was audible. Reaching out, he ran his own hands up and down Dean's sides, his fingers digging into Dean's flesh when Dean's mouth or tongue had him tensing with pleasure. "I think I'm the best person to judge whether I'm too hurt. Mmm, do that again," he demanded, a shudder passing through him. "Been a long day. I'd like to ... work off the tension," he said, his voice a little hoarse.

Dean sucked hard on Sam's nipple then pulled off. "No. No _working._ I'd rather play..." Dean's voice dropped low and turned velvet. "...with every part of you I can reach." He began teasing Sam's other nipple while sliding his hands down Sam's back, under the cotton briefs, to his ass cheeks which he squeezed and kneaded.

"I want to play, too." Sam undid Dean's jeans and pushed a hand inside, cupping Dean and squeezing him lightly, his breath catching as he felt Dean's cock thicken in his palm. "But I want to play _hard_." 

"Are you trying to tell me something?" Dean asked, nipping his shoulder then sucking on the side of his neck. With a soft pleasure-filled groan he thrust his cock into Sam's hand. "It's me you want _hard_ so you can _take it._ And I'm right there with you, Baby, all the way." 

"Good. Then we understand each other. Mmmh..." He leaned into Dean as he squeezed him again. Skimming his mouth across Dean's bare chest, he took a step back and ran his free hand down Dean's chest as he sat down. "Let's get this off--"

The next thing Sam knew, his hand was wrenched out of Dean's pants and he landed on his ass on the floor and heard the thump of wood against wood behind him. "What--" He turned his head to see if he'd miscalculated the distance between himself and the bed, but saw the bed had moved, shifting so it was all the way against the chest of drawers. The mirrors and windows started shaking as if to a drum beat, the way they had earlier when he'd been alone, only it was stronger now. "Earthq... Emily," he said, starting to get up. That was when the bed flew back toward him.

Dean's entire focus was on Sam, more than ready to have his slow and pleasurable way with him, ready to give him anything he wanted. Then that warmth wrapping his cock was gone, the bed shifted on its own, and the house seemed to be right out of an Edgar Allen Poe tale with its own beating tell-tale heart. When he saw the bed start to move towards his lover, he gripped Sam by the arm, yanked him to his feet and shoved him out the door, wrecking the salt line in the process. The bed plowed into Dean, into his bad leg, and he let out with a string of curses like he hadn't used since Emily and Sam had moved in. He stumbled back and out the door, right into Sam. 

"Shotgun!" he snapped at Sam. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it was something that literally went bump in the night. Salt was usually a good bet for at least slowing that sort of thing down.

"I gotta get Emily out! Dean, the mirror," Sam shouted, seeing it pull off the wall and fly towards him. He stumbled back, the mirror smashing into bits where he had been standing moments ago. His hand was against the hall wall until he reached the cabinet and yanked it open. Grabbing one of Dean's salt rifles, he tossed it to him, and headed for Emily's room, wincing slightly from the pain in his ankle. 

Before he got to Em's room, Sam felt a pressure on his back and was thrown face first high up onto the wall, his shout cut off when his face slammed into the plaster. His heart beat like it was about to burst out of his chest. The invisible force held him pinned against the wall for a moment, then he crumpled to the floor. He felt a few bits of glass dig into his knees. "Dean?"

"Sonuvabitch," Dean muttered. He didn't see a damned thing. He started the first exorcism that came to mind, but nothing happened. He limped to the cabinet where the gun had been and grabbed one of the bags of salt. Ripping it open, he added to the line across the threshold to Emily's room and then pouring some into his hand, started flinging it in every direction. "Show yourself, you bastard!" Dean demanded.

"What is it?" Sam asked, putting one hand on the wall and pulling himself up, carefully stepping around the scattered shards of the mirror. He started backing up toward Emily's room. It was odd that she hadn't cried out or anything.

Dean's gaze scoured the area, then came to rest on Sam. He grabbed Sam's wrist and tugged him away from Emily's door. "Whatever it is, I think it's after you. Probably be best if you don't go in there with Em. I'll check on her." 

Sam cursed softly under his breath but fought against the instinct to get into her room and take her in his arms. 

Dean poured a circle of salt around Sam. "Just stay in the circle. But this won't protect you from things getting lobbed at you, so stay sharp. Let me make sure Munchkin is okay, then you and I are going downstairs to do some research to figure out what the hell is going on." He lifted Sam's hand and kissed his palm. "We'll fix this, Sam. Promise."

Sam tried to give Dean a smile, but it slipped away the instant Dean went to check on Emily. Sam ran his hand through his hair, then touched his face and looked at his palm. Bleeding again. Yeah, it was much better that Emily didn't see that. He kept looking around, waiting for something to sail through the air at him, or for that creepy earthquake to start again. What the hell was happening?

Dean padded quietly in by Emily's bedside. She was breathing in long slow breaths, holding one of her stuffed animals close to her chest. Dean gently lifted some long strands of hair that had fallen across her face up and back. He could see her eyes moving beneath her lids. She was deep in sleep. "Sleep well, Munchkin," Dean whispered and kissed her cheek. He saw a slight smile curve her lips and gentle sigh whispered between her lips. "Popsie..."

"Popsie's here, baby, and so is Daddy. You're safe. Dream sweet dreams of pink ponies and sledding and Christmas mornings."

She gave another sigh and nestled deeper under her bedspread.

After lightly stroking her hair, he quietly slipped back out of the room, watching where he stepped. "She's out cold, dreaming good dreams I think," he told Sam. "C'mon, let's get downstairs and start looking into this. If this keeps up, you're going down in the panic room where you'll be safe from damned near anything."

"Are you sure we should leave her up here? I don't know Dean..." Sam looked up and closed his eyes for a moment, then looked back at Dean. "Why don't you bring her downstairs to the spare room."

The worry was clear in the strain of Sam's voice and the look in his eyes. If she started having bad dreams or something started to happen up here, they might not hear it. Dean only hesitated a moment. "Okay, but first, let me get you downstairs, inside a salt ring, then I'll come get her. I don't want to be carrying her if you go down the stairs head-first again or things start flying about the room, okay?"

"Are you saying I fell before because..." The way Dean's eyes were boring into his, Sam knew the answer. "Okay." Stepping out of the circle, he took the bag from Dean. "I can... I can make the circle. Just watch her," he said, leaning in to give Dean a quick kiss. The ground started shaking again and he quickly pulled away, looking around. 

"She'll be fine. Salt at the door, remember? I'm walking you down the stairs. Get back in the circle for the moment." He grabbed another bag from the cabinet, opened it then started pouring an oblong circle of salt that went to the edge of the stairs. Was Emily safe, though? Why didn't the salt line keep it out of _their_ room then? Ice ran through Dean's veins when he realized the answer. _...Because the thing was already in the room with us before I put the salt line down..._

He looked at the stairs. There wasn't anything he could do about keeping Sam inside a circle while on the stairs themselves. "C'mon. Stay in the circle," he said waving Sam forward.

As he slowly walked between the salt lines, a thousand thoughts went through Sam's mind. What was this thing? Was it deadly? Was he putting Em and Dean in danger? Could they fight it? All he had were questions without answers. 

When they reached the stairs, he held onto the banisters. Watching Dean go down slightly ahead of him, he could tell Dean's hip had shifted out of whack again. "You hurt your leg," he said softly.

"Once we get you downstairs and safe, you can fix it for me. Believe me, this is nothing. Should have seen me when I was just getting back on my feet and hit some ice on the damned porch and fell off it. If I hadn't had my cellphone, I'd have probably frozen to death in the three feet of snow on the ground. Put me back in a wheelchair for another four weeks. I won't even tell you about the couple hunts I tried to handle on my own. Wasn't pretty. Made me realize I just couldn't...I wouldn't ever be a hunter again. Not really. Turned me into a researcher. A _bookworm._ I didn't even finish high school cause I hated that crap. Just got a G.E.D." Dean kept talking, trying to distract Sam from the subtle shaking of the stairs, of the banisters, of the fact Emily was upstairs and not with them. "I'm damned good as the gruff boss of the FBI agents, Homeland Security, you name it. Know more hunters now than I ever did when I was actually hunting. You're getting pretty good at answering the phones too, you know. You can sure get in someone's shit if you want to." He grinned at Sam.

Sam was only half-concentrating on what Dean was saying. He knew what Dean was doing, and he guessed it was working because it kept pulling him out of his own useless musings, or the fear that the mild shaking of the stairs would get worse. "You're hunter and research guy extraordinaire. And damned hot for a bookworm," Sam added, his foot coming off the last step and down onto solid ground.

On the way to the office area, Sam grabbed an iron poker from next to the fireplace and then stood in the door frame of the office while Dean laid the salt. Watching him turn around and leave to go get Emily was hard. Sam gripped the weapon with one hand, and the door frame with the other.

Dean would have taken the stairs two at a time if his leg wasn't fucked up. He just concentrated on not looking like he was limping and made sure he got that bad leg lifted up high enough for the next stair. He walked down to Emily's room, pulled back the covers, and slid his arms under her back and knees. Carefully, he lifted her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. She stirred and her eyes opened halfway.

"Hey Sweetie. Sammy and I are going to be downstairs doing some research so we're putting you in the spare bedroom since we'll probably be up most the night. That way we're right there if you need us. You just go back to sleep, Munchkin. Everything's fine."

"You're not leaving?" she asked, putting her arms around him.

"Nope. Strictly a research gig. I'll be here all night and in the morning when you wake up. We'll have my special pancakes with fresh albino spiders in them, okay?"

She yawned and nodded sleepily. "Blueberries are better," she mumbled. "But spiders are good, too."

Dean smiled down at her. Her eyes had slid closed and she was probably already drifting back into sleep. He carried her down the hall and took the stairs one at a time, not wanting his leg to give on him while he was carrying such a precious load. He gave Sam a reassuring smile and took her to the spare bedroom, settling her in the bed. After plugging in the electric blanket, he pulled the covers up over her, put a stuffed tiger in her arms, and turned on the nightlight. Laying a line of salt across the doorway, he straightened and limped back to the office.

"She woke up, made sure I wasn't leaving, then fell right back asleep. She's fine," he assured Sam.

Sam unclenched his now numb fingers and dropped the poker against the wall. Giving Dean a grateful smile, he forced himself to walk away and grab a chair, which he pushed to the other side of the desk. He didn't sit down, but turned to look at Dean. "There's salt all around the house. How did this thing get in?"

Dean shrugged helplessly. "I dunno Sam. Salt doesn't stop everything. And with it being winter, we drag in wet, snow-covered boots and it only takes a moment of a broken salt line for something to slip in. Question is, why is it going after you? Will it start going after me and the munchkin, too? Em's old enough...could be a poltergeist attached itself to her. Let's just start listing what we know and go through the books and see what fits, okay? Right now it's not been deadly in its attacks, but that could change fast." 

"A poltergeist... Em? No. No. I did not drag her half way across the country and back for something like this to happen to her," Sam said, slicing his hand through the air. "She's just a kid. As far as hard times go, she's paid her dues." He looked up and started to walk for the door. "I'm right here you son of a bitch, you hear me. You leave them alone. I'm right here," he repeated, his hand reaching for the poker.

Dean limped over to Sam and grabbed his wrist, preventing him from grabbing the poker. "Stupid to provoke something when you don't know what will take it down. It hasn't bothered Em, and she's safe right now. If things change, we'll move her down to the panic room, okay? Just take a deep breath. Knowledge is our best weapon at the moment. The salt _seems_ to keep it at bay, but we can't kill it if we don't know what we're fighting." 

Sam tried to wrench his hand back but staring into Dean's eyes, he knew Dean was right. He had to calm down, do things the way Dean said. Just because he hated the idea that he was bringing danger to both of them, again, didn't mean that he should go off half-cocked and make it worse. "Okay," he whispered. "Sorry, I..." Guilt washed over him. Guilt and a little shame. Dragging his gaze away and looking down, he nodded. 

Dean pulled Sam into his arms. "It's not your fault. This is new, scary for you. I get that. This could just as easily be something out to hurt me by hurting you. Or it could be some random spirit that decided to go after us just for the hell of it. Unless it's pounding you in the face, best thing to do is stay cool and figure out how to beat it." He kissed Sam possessively. After he was certain he got Sam focused on him, he slowly broke off the kiss. "Now go sit down. I'll get us coffee started. You make a list of anything strange that's happened over the past week or two. Maybe stuff you didn't even think about but might be caused by this...thing. For you, or Em." He walked backwards, leading Sam over to the chair. With a final kiss, he headed for the kitchen, staying alert for anything out of the ordinary.

Sam's head tilted back as he briefly tried to follow Dean's mouth when Dean pulled away. Right, he'd rather be lost in the man's kisses, and in his arms, but it wasn't possible. After Dean disappeared into the kitchen, Sam reached for a pen and grabbed a sheet of paper. Everything had been perfect until the moment they'd gotten ready to get into bed.

Or had it?

He started to write stuff down, knowing some of it was most likely not relevant. But there were the earthquakes and the sound that came with them. Dean had felt and heard it. He thought back on how he'd tripped coming down the stairs, how amazed he'd been at falling over nothing. It wasn't like his leg had gone out from under him or he'd mis-stepped. It had felt like he'd actually tripped over something, though nothing was there. So he wrote that down. And then there were the shifted pictures and other things, things he'd thought Emily had moved. There was also that strange cold sensation he'd felt going into the garage, when he'd brought some coffee and a sandwich to Dean. Sure, outside had been cold, but for a second, right after he'd stepped into the warmer garage, he'd felt an icy breeze and looked around for an open window.

Dean returned with hot coffee and some cheese and crackers for them to eat, mostly to make sure the coffee didn't completely eat a hole in their stomachs by morning. He leaned over Sam's shoulder and read his far too neat and elegant writing, before walking around and sliding into his own chair behind the desk. 

"Emily wasn't around for all of those things you've written down. So probably not a poltergeist. That means it's either you or me. It could be after you, because of you, or because of me. Things on that list all sound like ghostly crap. If it was just the house, it could be one of the many spirit things that take up residence. But out in the garage, too? Not impossible, but I don't think it's likely. So why now? What started it up? Usually ghosts are attached to something of theirs. So if it's me, then it's maybe something I bought in the way of junk, or car parts. What about you? Have you bought anything old? Found something that was packed away, stuff that was mine or yours or Bobby's?"

Cupping his hands around his steaming mug, Sam shook his head. "Nothing. I mean I'm still cleaning out and organizing the attic but I haven't taken anything out or touched anything with a 'do not touch' label." The last time he'd done that, they'd thought it was the cause of their sex life getting shot down. He wasn't about to fool around with something that could do that, or worse. "What about the quakes. I've never heard you talk about the whole ground shaking," he asked. "Think that's an area I can look into?" he asked, eyeing the lap top.  
"That's a new one," Dean agreed. "Well...unless we're talking a demon but we haven't seen black smoke and they don't do the whole cold spot thing. They wouldn't typically screw with moving pictures around. Flinging them to hell and back like with the mirror, that they'd do. Yeah, the quakes are good to follow up on. It's the only inconsistency with the ghost theory. I'll go through the invoices of the things that have come into the yard over the past two weeks, see if anything might have a ghost attached to it, but there's no reason for it to go after just you. Again, doesn't make sense," Dean said shaking his head, puzzled by it all. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing and walked into the salvage yard's office, grabbed the invoices, and paused in the living room long enough to dry swallow a couple prescription painkillers, then returned to the research library. 

* * *

Sam was slumped over the desk, his head laying on a pile of paper when he heard a gentle cough that started to pull him out of sleep.

"Are you naked researching?" Emily asked, standing in the doorway of the office, one hand closed around her stuffed animal's foot, staring at the two men sitting across from each other at the desk.

"Naked what?" Sam asked, now startled into fully awake mode and lifting his head. He saw Dean was leaning back in his chair and was just waking up as well. All he could see of him was his bare chest, and he guessed all Emily could see was his bare back.

Chuckling softly and coloring a little, he turned toward her. "Never change. Mornin'."

Dean blinked sleepy eyes and sat up, immediately regretting it as his hip cramped. He grit his teeth and swallowed back any sound. This would be a day he would have been on crutches, but he didn't want Sam to know just how much he was hurting. Restroom. He'd hit the restroom, throw back a handful of painkillers and just suck it up. That was the plan anyhow until he pushed himself up to stand and that leg refused to take any weight. His breath hissing, he collapsed back into the chair, his head bowed as he tried to get the pain under control.

"Dean!" Sam was out of his chair and around the desk at the same time as Emily. "Let me help you to the sofa, and then you're staying put until I take care of your leg. Em, honey, give us some room," he said, putting an arm around Dean and helping him.

She gave them a few inches of room, her eyes intensely focused on Dean. 

Dean was taking shallow breaths as he tried to force the pain back. "Bad idea...sleeping in this chair...I know better..." he grit out. He gave Emily a strained smile. "Just slept wrong, kiddo. Your dad'll fix me up, but I think he'll be cooking you pancakes this morning instead of me." He put his arm over Sam's shoulder and let Sam help him to the couch. "Muscle relaxant," he told Sam. "Gonna need a muscle relaxant before you're going to be able to work on it. It's locked up and spasming." He had broken out in a sweat from the pain and exertion of taking even a few steps. Maybe he'd go with crutches today after all.

"I'll get them. A hot bath might be good for you," he said, taking most of Dean's weight and after letting Dean take a few clearly painful steps, giving Emily a conspiratorial wink. "Know how I tell you that you're getting big and you're lucky your daddy's ..."

"Really strong!" Emily filled in, knowing exactly what was coming next.

"Here's your proof," Sam said, lifting Dean into his arms and carrying him past the door with Emily skipping behind, then in front of them. "Got you over the threshold," Sam said, grinning into Dean's startled face and moving toward the sofa. 

"Holy shit! Sam!" Dean protested. "Dammit, put me down! My crutches! Just get my freaking crutches!" he complained, but Sam and Emily were both grinning and though he still felt indignant over the whole thing, he shut up and let Sam carry him and set him on the couch. Looping his arm around Sam's neck he pulled Sam down into the hottest, dirtiest kiss he could. When he finally released Sam, he smirked and wiped his mouth with his thumb not saying a word.

Stunned. Flushing with unexpected desire. And glaring at Dean because he couldn't yell at him just now about it being maybe better if they kept their kisses vanilla around 'Miss See-it-all.' Sam seemed to be at a loss for words.  
Emily put her hand on her dad's shoulder and told him gravely, "It's okay, Daddy. You're married."

Sam grimaced, then huffed, "Yeah. I'm ah..." He got up, still looking at Dean. "I'll get your ..."

"Medicine," Emily finished for him, quickly making room for herself next to Dean on the couch and touching his cheek. Once Sam had disappeared into the other room, she whispered, "I could skip school today." 

Dean wrapped an arm around her waist, giving her a light hug. "No, Munchkin. Some meds, and your dad's magic hands, and I'll be just fine. Why don't you go feed Rummy? I'm sure he's getting impatient out by his bowl. Then go get dressed for school, but take the stairs slow and careful. After you give me a little magic kiss right here to make me feel better." He turned his head so she could give him a kiss, pointing to his cheek. 

"Okay," she sighed and gave him a big kiss. Stealing a glance at the kitchen, she instead headed into the office and picked up Dean's shotgun. Seeing her dad wasn't back, she ran back and put it down against the couch, with the barrel facing the floor. Her eyes widened when Dean looked at her and she heard her dad's footsteps. "Don't tell," she whispered and darted off to the kitchen.

Sam was headed out of the kitchen with a glass of water for Dean when his daughter ran past him and mumbled about feeding Rummy who seemed to have ESP and was right there waiting next to his bowl. "Let him out first," Sam suggested and headed to the living room with Dean's pills in hand. The look on Dean's face was pretty much a copy of the look on Emily's. "What's going on?" Sam asked, passing Dean the pills and the water. He looked back at the kitchen, and then at Dean. 

Emily knew not to touch the guns. That had been reinforced again and again, with the promise that one day she would be old enough to help clean them and then eventually start shooting them if she really wanted to. So Dean was more than a little surprised when Emily brought him the shotgun. She disappeared into the kitchen before he had a chance to ask her why she thought he needed it. He'd slid it under the front of the couch on the floor, so Sam wouldn't see it. But now he would need to corner her to find out what was going through the munchkin's head.

"Nothing. Christmas scheming," Dean said. "And Em wanted to skip school today since I'm hurting. I told her no, that you'd have me good in nothing flat."

Sam ran his hand through his hair and gave a nod. "After I drop her off at school, I'll get a Christmas tree and get the decorations out. It'll give her something to focus on, other than taking care of us," he sighed. "So. Pancakes?"

Thinking about Sam around a hot stove and Dean not being able to help if something went badly, he shook his head. "I think instant oatmeal, microwaved, that would be good. How about the apple cinnamon one Emily likes? Sam...don't boil the water on the stove, okay? Microwave it. Just in case." He knew his eyes held worry, but he couldn't help it.

About to argue, Sam relented when he thought Dean might get up if he didn't. Bending over, he kissed him, pulling away quickly though, his eyes flashing a warning. "Don't start anything again when you know we can't finish it." Huffing about Dean's earlier kiss, he went to the kitchen. "Rummy must have been real hungry," he said, seeing the dog lapping at the empty bowl.

"He was. And he really liked the gravy," she said.

"The... Em!" Seeing the gravy boat hanging from her hand, he took it from her. "I needed that for something," he muttered.

"It's okay. You can make more," she said with a brilliant smile.

"Yeah. I can make more," he agreed. "You want to get dressed. We're having oatmeal for breakfast."

Nodding, she headed for the door, then turned. "Can I wear my pink dress?"

"It's too cold."

"I can wear tights. And a sweater. And a coat and scarf and..."

"Alright, alright, you wore me down, you imp."

Giggling, she raced out of the kitchen.

When Dean saw Emily emerge and start running for the stairs, he gave a soft but sharp call to her. "Em! What did I say about the stairs? Come over here a minute."

She sucked in an audible breath at the reminder and stopped before she started climbing. "I forgot," she whispered, walking slowly to the couch.  
Dean patted the cushion where she'd sat before. "That's okay sweetheart. I know it's easy to forget. Just be extra careful going up and down them right now," Dean said, smiling a little at her. "Now why don't you tell me why you think I need my shotgun with me? What's going on, Em? Bad dreams? Somebody say something at school? What?" He wrapped his arm lightly around her waist again. He wouldn't push the issue if she didn't want to talk about it, but tonight, they'd have a sit down if it came to that. 

Her face immediately jerked up, her eyes boring into his. "You have to protect Daddy. You promised me," she said, her hand moving to grab him, her fingers curling into his arm.

"Of course I'll protect him..." Dean's words faded as he stared into his daughter's eyes, and he grew more concerned. "Tell me what I need to protect him from Em. What _exactly_ is he in danger from?" 

She started to take shallow breaths, her fingers kneading into his flesh. "The thing on the stairs. The thing I wanted you to shoot," she said finally.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean inhaled slowly. She had guided the muzzle of his gun when Sam fell, but it hadn't made any sense to him then. "Em, I didn't see anything on the stairs with Sam. What did you see? What did it look like?"

She blanched. "It wasn't a dream, cross my heart. It wasn't. It wasn't," she kept shaking her head, hoping he'd believe her.

"Shh-shh-shh." He tugged her a little closer, running his fingers through her tangled hair. "I didn't say it was. Kids can see things sometimes when adults can't. Talk to me. Tell me what you saw, Emily. Every last detail you can."

"I told Daddy about the shadow man. He said it was a dream," she whispered. "He was smaller before. I saw him follow Daddy and then he tripped him and pushed him, and... and... and... he was going to step on him and punch him and...." Her eyes closed as she got tangled up in the past.

"Emily, stay with me. It's okay," Dean soothed her. "It's okay. What do you mean he was smaller before? When did you see him before?"

"Following Daddy. On the stairs and," she licked her lips, lightly biting her tongue as she concentrated, "...in your chair, when Daddy and I were eating lunch."

Dean reminded himself Emily was only seven and forced himself to stay patient. "That's good, Em, that's real good. Was yesterday the first time you saw the shadow man?"

Still kneading Dean's arm, she shook her head from side to side. "No," she said, the pitch of her voice rising like she was about to cry. "I told you, he was on the stairs yesterday, but in your chair and following Daddy a long, long, long time ago."

"It's okay, Emily. It's okay," Dean soothed her, having no idea what her child's concept of 'long' was. It could be a days to months, so he needed to narrow it down. "Was the shadow man here when Sam took you trick or treating?" At the shake of her head, he asked, "How about Thanksgiving?"

"Uh uh." She looked over at the dinner table. "Daddy let me have McDonald's and we brought you dessert. I don't know when, Popsie, I don't know...." Her lip started trembling again.

"Hey now, that's a good job, remembering about McDonald's and dessert. That was about a week ago I think. That'll help a lot," he assured her, smiling at her, though he wasn't really sure how much help it would be. The fact that this thing had been around at least a week worried Dean. "Has it always just been following your daddy? Ever seen it anywhere else?"

She started to nod when Sam walked out of the kitchen.

"Em, why aren't you getting dressed? Alright, I'll help you," he said, bringing a steaming mug of coffee for Dean and setting it down on the coffee table.

Emily scrambled off the sofa and ran for the stairs, but came to a sudden stop. Slowly, she started to climb the stairs, her hair covering her face.

"You two plotting against me?" Sam asked with a grin. "We'll be right back."

"Always," Dean said, giving his lover a bit of a leer. "I told Em to be extra careful on the stairs right now, not to run up or down them. Sorry, I was holding her up from getting ready for school. Thanks for the java." He cursed to himself. He didn't know if Emily meant she'd only seen it around Sam or if she had seen it elsewhere too. He'd have to corner her one more time before Sam swept her out the door to school. It was more than obvious she didn't want Sam overhearing her tell him about the shadow. He supposed it was because Sam had dismissed it as a nightmare. "You be careful on the stairs, too," he added, watching Sam's tight ass with appreciation as Sam made it to the stairs. "Slow and sexy--uh, careful, that's the way to go."

Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean and shook his head. "Incorrigible." Course after he took a few steps up the stairs, he leaned over the banister. "Just the way I like you. Hold that thought." Holding the railing, he continued up the stairs, determined not to allow yesterday's events to turn him into someone too afraid to walk around his own house.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the pair came down the stairs. Sam's eyes were on Dean and he was trying very hard not to crack up. So their daughter had a thing for pink dresses, and tights, and pink glittery hair doodads, and she had just marched to the middle of the room and, putting her arms out to the side, was giving Dean a fashion show.

Dean clapped his hands lightly, hoping Em hadn't caught his eyeroll when he first spotted her coming down the stairs. Pink was good though. God forbid when she got older if she had a thing for hot little red numbers. He'd have to threaten every teenage boy in a fifty mile radius. "Looks like a real princess in all that...pink. May I have a private audience with the princess before she has breakfast?" He glanced at Sam. "Gotta finish scheming, you know."

"I'll have breakfast ready in just a few minutes. You did ask for oatmeal," Sam noted, though he thought he'd bring out a side order of bacon because he knew there was no way oatmeal was going to satisfy Dean. Throwing a suspicious look at the pair, he headed into the kitchen.

"Rummy," Emily called out, a smile lighting her face as the dog came running, but quickly backing away and putting her hands out. "No... don't get my dress dirty," she told him, giggling and dropping to her knees to pet him when he laid down. "Good boy."

Looking at the dog, he told himself Sam was going to have to be the one to give Rumsfeld his weekly bath. Focusing back on 'princess,' Dean asked quietly, "Em, this is important. Have you seen the shadow anywhere else other than with Sam?"

Her face fell when he brought it up again. "You mean here? No."

"Where else have you seen it?" Dean asked, not liking the implications. He hated that he was upsetting Emily, but he just didn't see that he had a choice since she was the only one who could see it.

She shook her head. Her eyes filled with tears and she closed her arms around her legs, burying her face in her knees. "No. It's over. That's over. It's not real, it's over," she kept repeating to herself, her entire body shaking. Rumsfeld gave a soft whine.

Dean's jaw set. He pushed himself up, fighting back the grunt of pain. He struggled to stand and using the coffee table as leverage, managed to at least get over to the girl, though he ended up on the floor beside her. He gathered her into his arms. "Hey now, what's all this? It's all okay. Daddy and Popsie will make everything okay, Sweetheart. You know that. You just need to tell me what's not real, what's all over, where this shadow was, and then you are going to have the best day ever at school. And I'll have Sam get us pizza tonight. Pizza and soda, and we'll watch a princess movie and everything. Just tell me so I can fix it, honey," he coaxed, hoping his promises of the night to come would help keep her tears away. He hated it when she cried. It was like a knife in his own gut.

She hugged him tight, still shaking. "At home. Before. Before we came here," she said barely above a whisper. "Daddy's in trouble. He made a spill. Papa says he's clumsy. He's not." She shook her head in denial. "'Go to your room Emily, it's fine.' But it's not fine." She started to cry. "It's not fine. Daddy's in trouble. He ... he goes to his room. Then ... then... papa's shadow on the wall, he's following. He's mad. His shadow's big. He's..."

Dean felt his blood turn to ice as Emily began to talk about how things had been when they lived with Sam's ex. Then, the shadow man...the shadow on the wall was of Dex. The shadow man was Dex. Holding Emily tighter, he felt his throat close up. "Baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Dean said.

"Dean? Emily!" The bowl and plate Sam was carrying slipped from his suddenly numb fingers and crashed to the floor, shattering and spilling their contents. In a few long strides, he'd crossed the room and dropped down next to them. "What's wrong. What happened?" he demanded, one hand on Emily's back, the other on Dean's. Had that thing gone after Dean or Em?

Dean barely started at the sudden clatter of broken dishes. When he felt Sam's hand on his back, he took one arm from around her and put it around Sam, holding him as close as he could. Dex tried to take him from Dean once. Now, Dex's ghost was back, trying to hurt Sam, trying to take him away again. "He won't touch your daddy, I swear, Em. I swear. Now that I know, I'll find a way to stop him. Promise you, honey. Promise," he told her, his voice firm and determined. He kissed her hair, then turned and brushed his lips over Sam's cheek. "Take her out to the donut shop. She's been a brave girl," Dean told Sam quietly. "Get her cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate and anything else she wants. Put Rumsfeld in the kitchen to keep him out of the spilled breakfast. And bring me my crutches."

"Emily honey, come to me," Sam said, taking her into his arms as soon as she released her death grip on Dean. As he wiped away her tears, his eyes searched Dean's face. He cocked his head in question, but when Dean shook his head, Sam got up.

"Rummy, come on."

The dog merely sat next to Dean.

"You want to give it a try?" Sam asked, turning around so Emily could look down at the dog. "He likes you best."

A slight smile formed on her trembling lips. "Rummy, I have chocolate," she sing-songed.

The dog's ears bent towards them, then he hopped up onto all fours and started following.

"You are tricky," Sam declared, fighting to hide his worry and to distract her.

"Like Daddy," she said, only she didn't shout it or giggle.

"Yeah. Like Daddy." Closing the dog in, Sam returned with her still in his arms. From the spare room, he got Dean's crutches and leaned them against the coffee table next to Dean. "Lemme help you up," he said, giving Dean his hand. "Em, pull with me, you're the strong one."

Dean waited as patiently as he could, his mind racing with possibilities of how to take care of that bastard yet a second time. Casper the blood-thirsty ghost was after his Sammy, and Dex would probably only get stronger as the anniversary of his death got closer and closer. He started to try to get up on his own when Sam brought the crutches but when Sam offered him his hand, common sense took over and he let Sam help him up and then grabbed the crutches.

"That's more like it," Dean said. "I am officially back in action. And you know what? Your popsie is gonna join you two at the donut shop. Em, why don't you go pick your popsie a warm shirt out and bring it down for me. Then we'll all three go out for donuts and hot chocolate, and then drop you off at school. And you can brag what a cool daddy and popsie you have and about the awesome donuts we had for breakfast. Would you like that?"

"Yay!"

When Emily scrambled out of Sam's arms, Sam looked at Dean, took a step and closed an arm around him. "Have I told you how amazing you are with her? Make that just... how amazing you are." He brushed his mouth across Dean's cheek and spoke against his ear. "If you can't tell me what's going on just now, tell me it's going to be okay," he said. He could wait to hear Dean out after they dropped Emily off at school, but he needed to know that something huge hadn't come up.

Dean's voice was absolute steel. "It's going to be better than okay. Promise," he said.

"Alright. Alright." Hearing Emily run to the stairs, then walk down slowly, Sam smiled. "Let's get breakfast, then we get you fixed up at the salon... no arguments."

"Sounds a little more manly to say...well, I guess spa doesn't sound much better," Dean grumbled but secretly had to admit he was looking forward to having the hot towels and oils, and Sam working on his muscles and everything.

"Oh, I'll show you manly," Sam promised, pulling away just as Emily reached them.

"I couldn't find anything with pink. We should get pink for Christmas." She looked first at Dean's horrified expression and then Sam's shaking shoulders. "Pink isn't only for girls, just like blue isn't only for boys," she said in a tone sounding suspiciously close to her teacher's.

* * *

By the end of breakfast, between the two of them, they'd kept Emily laughing and entertained. Sam had tried not to exchange too many looks with Dean. He'd made a habit of communicating with him in silence, but he didn't want Em catching on that anything was wrong.

When they'd dropped her off, she'd made a bee line for a little boy in the yard. Dean immediately wanted to know the kid's name, and that had Sam laughing. But once they got into the car, he wasn't laughing anymore. He wanted to know why Emily was crying earlier, and what had Dean so riled that he'd gone out to breakfast even when his leg was giving him such trouble. Dean told him it wasn't something they should talk about while Sam was driving. His efforts to make Dean change his mind failed miserably and Sam just drove faster.

After reaching the salon, Dean chatted up Sam's co-workers while Sam got the room ready. As soon as the clean sheets were in place and the heating pad covering the bed was on and warming, Sam called Dean into the massage room. Once Dean was inside, Sam leaned against the door and searched Dean's face. "What's going on? You have to tell me. My mind is all over the place thinking about what this could be about. I need to know."

Dean studied Sam, seeing the tension in every line of his husband's body, seeing the concern and fear in his face and eyes, and hearing the strain in his voice. Even knowing the things Sam might be imagining, he didn't want to tell him. Hadn't Sam been through enough with that bastard ex of his? He wanted to just stay silent, find out where Dex was buried, and dig up and burn the bones until there was nothing left. Finally, Dean gave Sam a weak smile. "Why don't you play some of that music you like to relax you, burn some of those candles or incense, then...sit down. Then we'll talk."

"I'm not fragile. I don't break easy," Sam answered. "Whatever it is, you can spit it out. I swear to you, I won't freak out."

"Fine. I'll sit down then," Dean said, easing himself up onto the massage table and leaning his crutches against the headpiece. "There's a ghost with a grudge attached to you. Em can see it." Dean took a breath, knowing that Sam's reaction was going to be bad, but if Sam wanted the bandaid ripped off instead of eased off, so be it. He'd managed to put Sam off a lot longer than he'd expected anyhow. "It's Dex," he finished quietly, ready to push himself off the table and catch his lover in his arms if need be.

Sam felt the blood drain from his face. He'd been prepared for anything... anything but that. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His eyes bore into Dean's, willing him to take the words back, to tell him he'd heard wrong, but those words could not be taken back because they were the truth. He blinked and recalled how he'd been shoved in the hall, how he'd been thrown against the wall and held there. "He likes throwing me against walls," he said in a voice devoid of emotion.

Focusing on the small stool next to the massage table, he took a step toward it, gripping the edge of the table and then lowered himself down onto the stool. Something flashed in front of his eyes. He saw blood splattered all over the floor and on his jeans and shirt. He wiped his nose, but there was nothing. All the blood was long gone. It was just the lingering of painful memories. "I can't let her go through this again, Dean. I can't. I can't go through it," he said, running his hand through his hair, then over his face.

"I know, Baby. I know," Dean said, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "He'll probably get stronger the closer it gets to the anniversary of his death. I'll find out what was done with his body, where it was buried. He's out for vengeance, probably blames you for his death. He may not even see Em or me. It's hard telling. Em's young enough, she can still connect to," Dean waved his hand, "that part of 'what is' and what's 'between.' She can see his shadow. That's why she's been upset."

"Anyone would be terrified at seeing a ghost... a dead person. But she sees him Dean, she..." Sam looked up and locked gazes with his husband. "I can't let him wreck her life anymore. I just can't. You have to take her, you have to keep her safe until... I dunno, but I can't have her seeing him. I can't have her seeing me hurt again," he said on a dry sob. "I can't keep her safe. I guess I never could."

Dean gripped Sam's arm and pulled him up, wrapping him in a protective embrace. "You always kept her safe. When you were still with the bastard, and then, you even had the strength to run from him, saving her all over again. Twice." He ran his hand soothingly over Sam's hair. "Let's just take this one step at a time. We'll see if Lacey can watch Em overnight. You can stay in the panic room, which hopefully will keep him at bay, and I'll hunt down his bones." Dean kissed Sam long and slow. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. I promised Em that and I'm promising you. We'll put that bastard down once and for all."

Sam couldn't bring himself to say anything. His throat felt raw and he was still in shock. A part of him was paralyzed, his mind numb. Closing his eyes he kissed Dean back, but it was mostly for Dean. He didn't want him to know how upset he was, especially after he'd just told Dean he could take anything. Slowly, he pushed Dean back toward the table. As soon as Dean sat on it, Sam undid Dean's jeans and pulled them half way down, then started to strip his shirt off. He felt Dean's gaze on him, met his eyes, then nodded for him to lay down.

Dean resisted the urge to tell Sam the next time he told him to put on music, light up incense, and sit down, Sam should listen to him. There wasn't anything more he could say or do for Sam though, and he knew it. Sam needed time to adjust, to deal, and however Sam felt he needed to do that, Dean would let him. He certainly wouldn't complain if Sam wanted to get lost in his work. Especially if Dean was the recipient. He stretched out on the table, inhaling sharply as he twisted wrong and his hip and leg spasmed. "I'm all yours, Baby," Dean said. "Gimme your all."

Immediately, Sam placed his palm on Dean's leg, right near his hip, pressing on it lightly until the spasm stopped. Once again, his eyes met Dean's. There were so many emotions roiling inside him, Sam was afraid to speak, afraid of what might spill out of him. He gave a small smile, then turned away to get the oil warmed up in the small microwave. Leaving it there, he moved to the foot of the bed and pulled Dean's jeans off, moving back up to pull his boxers off, putting a warm, narrow towel over his privates as he slipped into work mode and tried to bar all extraneous thoughts from his mind. Lowering the lights, he lit the scented candles and started the soft "nature's sounds" music.

Dean glanced down at the warm towel over his cock. He bit back any snarky comments about the towel being too small to cover his package, or express disappointment Sam didn't intend to 'massage' that area as well. That wasn't what Sam needed right now. With his hip hurting like it was, it wasn't really what Dean needed either, but his lower brain often got priority. Not this time though.

Grabbing the plastic bottle of oil from the microwave, Sam squeezed some into his hand and started to spread the oil in ever-widening circles over Dean's hip, then his thigh, then the side of his thigh, grimacing at the bruising he saw there from where the bed had slammed into Dean. That was his fault, too. How many people would be hurt because of him, of Dex's fixation on him?

Once he had enough oil, Sam started to lightly massage Dean's leg and hip, his fingers searching for the muscle delineations and areas he would return to. As he worked, he felt Dean start to relax, to trust that nothing he did would send pain shooting through his leg. He kneaded and stroked, splaying his fingers wide and finding a nice rhythm.

Giving it another ten minutes, Sam finally whispered. "Roll onto your side, come near the edge of the bed." He helped position Dean and while standing behind him, he took Dean's hand, the one closest to the edge of the table, and pulling it towards himself, drew Dean's arm across his body. "Do you feel any tingling in your arm?" he asked, knowing the answer but distracting Dean into answering and suddenly using his own hip to push against Dean's buttock. The cracking sound, as well as Dean's sudden intake of breath and the curse Sam expected would ordinarily make Sam laugh, but right now, all he felt was a sense of satisfaction.

He moved both of his hands up and down Dean's leg and side, calming him, pushing down only in the areas where he felt tension, and just touching him because he believed in the healing powers of someone's touch.

Once Dean's eyes were closed, for a good twenty minutes, Sam gave him a regular massage, loving him with his hands, thanking him, knowing that despite the fact that his leg was acting up, this man was about to go to war for him, for him and for Emily. Feeling his eyes sting, he whispered, his voice a little hoarse, "Roll onto your stomach now."

Dean gave a soft grunt, unhappy he had to move, but knowing the next part would feel just as good. He rolled over, adjusting and shifting himself until he was comfortable.

Squirting hot oil on his hands, Sam started to massage Dean's lower back, moving in half circles from his spine to his sides and inching upwards, all the way to his broad shoulders. He worked on Dean's shoulder blades and neck, first using his thumbs and strong hands to realign the deeper connective tissues, putting friction across Dean's muscles until the tension he felt, the tightness, melted away. Once he was satisfied that he'd gotten all the tight spots, he caressed and massaged in great big strokes, knowing it was what Dean enjoyed most.

"Roll on your side again," he said, this time standing in front of Dean, holding his shoulder in place as he pulled on his leg, then he pressed his elbow down on the side of Dean's leg, getting more bones to shift into place. He knew the last had hurt, and he immediately started to caress and stroke the area, careful of the bruising.

He was almost done, and that meant it was almost time for Dean to leave him, to go about his business of saving people. And as for Sam, he was right back where he'd always been. Powerless. He sniffed, trying to hold back the tears that threatened. "Dean. You're not going alone," he managed to say eventually as his hands slipped off Dean's body and the music stopped.

Dean slowly opened his eyes. "We'll have to have a repeat of this tonight. With a happy ending for you for making me feel so much better." He reached out and gripped Sam's hand, tugging Sam closer as he slowly sat up. "I'm never alone, even if you're not standing next to me," Dean said, smiling at him. He planted a light kiss on Sam's lips but could see the way Sam's eyes glittered with unshed tears and hear the stress in his lover's voice. "You can do whatever feels right for you. I'm going to sit out in the little recovery area, have a cup of coffee, and call the sheriff to start with. See what I can find out about what happened last year. How many customers do you have coming in today and when are their appointments?"

"I don't have any today. I was going to get a tree and... I'm free," he answered. He started to pull away, but then leaned in and kissed Dean, giving him the proper kiss that Dean was used to getting from him. "I'll get you some water. And don't... you know, try to go Batman for no reason. It's a temporary fix," he reminded Dean. Straightening, he went to the small water dispenser and filled a paper cup with water.

"Mmm, that's my Sammy," Dean said after the kiss Sam gave him. Seeing Sam going after water he muttered, "Rather have coffee." He knew he wouldn't get his coffee until he drank enough water to make Sam happy. "No Batman unless I have to. I plan to keep using the crutches to take it easy on my leg. Wish I'd thought to bring my cane. That's probably all I need now after your bit of magic." Dean downed the water, then wiped down with a towel Sam handed him before he started to re-dress. "Why don't you give Lacey a call and see if she can take Em tonight? Then we'll get started on hunting the shadow man down and kicking his ass back to Hell."

"Alright. It's a plan." Reaching for the switch, Sam slowly turned the light brighter. "It's gonna be okay. Today's the day we met," he said, seeking out Dean's eyes. "It was the first step to getting him away from us, and this is the first step to getting the shadow man out of our lives. We're gonna make it, no matter what," he said, looking intensely at Dean.

"Of course we are," Dean said, straightening after fastening his jeans. He closed the distance between them and lightly touched the bruised side of Sam's face from his header down the stairs. "I didn't find you just to have you disappear from my life. No way, no how. I've lost too much, given too much. You are not an option. You're a necessity. Same for Emily. The three of us. Always." Smirking, Dean added, "At least until we let her out of the house when she's thirty-something to maybe start dating."

"Always," Sam agreed, then shook his head. "Just wait until she starts negotiating ages with you. You better work on your bargaining skills cause when it comes to her, you know you're a big softy. One day, she's gonna figure it out, too." Giving Dean a genuine smile, he realized that he couldn't wait for all of the moments of the rest of their lives to unfold. They just had this one hurdle to get over, and they would.

"Am not," Dean protested, knowing full well that when it came to both Emily and Sam, he was pure goo.

***

Learning that Dex had been cremated was more than a bit anti-climatic. Now they were tearing their house apart, trying to see what either Sam or Emily had in their possession that might be connected to Dex. Sam insisted there was absolutely nothing. They'd gotten away from Dex with practically only the clothes on their backs and a few things that had nothing to do with the man. Dean insisted there had to be something, and he was the expert so Sam deferred.

Hours after they started their search, Dean had Sam sit down and think what new things he might have brought into the house since about the time Dean figured Emily had first seen the shadow man. He told Sam this included mail of any type he might have gotten, maybe even something one of Dex's gang buddies might have sent.

Dean was doing the same thing, taking stock of everything he'd bought and going over his records of what cars he'd towed. He went through the receipts three times. He helped a handful of people stuck in the snow or with dead batteries. He'd bought parts for the VW Beetle he'd restored. Everything else...he'd picked up five older cars that had been totaled by the insurance companies, two from this town the others from nearby towns. A Barracuda, a Fairline, a Duster, a newer Cadillac, and a newer Corvette. He wasn't sure how useful the Corvette would be, but the price was right. He wanted to scavenge parts for his restoration business and besides, the cars were more metal than plastic (the Corvette not withstanding), so any leftover scraps he could turn a dollar or two on if nothing else.

"Dammit," Dean growled, looking at the receipts strewn across his desk. Sam wasn't having any luck, he wasn't and Emily...well, Emily wouldn't have something unless Sam or he knew about it. He'd bought a couple shirts from Goodwill, but those weren't...Nah, he didn't imagine Dex did flannel. "Sammy, you bought anything from a secondhand shop that might have been Dex's? He didn't wear flannel, right?"

"No I haven't and he didn't." Unable to think of anything else, Sam had started to put Christmas lights up around the windows. There was only so many times he could look through things, but he could keep thinking as he decorated. He turned to look at Dean. "Is there some other way a ghost could get attached to me, or to the house... or that it could free-fly or whatever?"

"Ghosts can ride in someone's meatsuit, but when they leave it, they're bungeed back to whatever is anchoring them in this world. It's almost always human remains. A lock of hair, hell, fingernail clippings can give them that foothold. If they have an extreme fondness of some object, sometimes that can be their anchor, because the object was practically a part of them. There's Hoodoo and black magic that can call someone from their grave, but the old gang he was part of have left you alone, haven't they? And I doubt they were into either Hoodoo or black magic..."

Frowning, Dean pulled on his coat. "Let me go check something. You stay put. I'll be right back."

"Where you going?" As Dean disappeared out the door, Sam followed and stood in the doorway. "Dean?"

"I'm just checking out a wreck I bought a few weeks back. It's in the west bay. Get back inside before you freeze to death."

"M'kay." Instead of moving inside, Sam merely closed the door some to stop most of the wind from coming in. He was curious though and was trying to decide whether to grab his own jacket and follow Dean.

Dean's boots crunched their way through the snow to the garage bays. He stepped inside, but frankly, without the propane heaters on, it wasn't any warmer inside than it was outside, there just wasn't a wind. Blowing into his hands, he turned on the light and looked at the dark-green Cadillac. The front window was cracked, the frame was twisted, its ass-end smashed right up to the tires, the front grill was busted and pushed in enough that the hood overlapped it. He looked at the car, walking slowly around it. Could it be the same car? The one that had almost taken Sam away from him forever?

Stepping closer, he opened the driver's side door. The interior was white, the carpet gray. He leaned over and popped open the glove box, finding some old receipts and a maintenance journal. He flipped open the journal and swore when he saw that originally the Caddie had been silver. And that it had been bought at a police auction.

The door of the car slammed shut and the engine suddenly jumped to life.

"What the fuck?" Dean said as he tried to open the door, but it was jammed.

Agent Davis, that's my bitch you're fucking. The voice was low, but clear. Dean recalled telling Dex that he was with the FBI and his name was Davis. The next thing Dean knew, something hit him in the face, blood suddenly pouring from his nose, and the car kicked into gear, busting through the garage bay door almost like it wasn't there.

The sound of splintering wood had Sam pushing the door open and running out onto the porch calling Dean's name. Through the windows of the wreck of a car, he caught a glimpse of Dean, blood running down his face and moving wildly around like he was trying to wrest control of the vehicle from something.

"Dean!" Sam yelled again, hoping the car would stop. But it didn't. It kept right on going, driving out the gate and onto the street.


	4. Chapter 4

Heart pounding, Sam paced the length of the porch. He needed to be smart about this. Dean had said that Dex would only get stronger, and he'd already been damned strong. So what would Dean do if that were Sam in the car? His gear!

Running inside the house, Sam put his jacket on and then ducked into the office long enough to grab the duffel bag Dean had packed when they'd thought they'd be heading to some graveyard to burn Dexter's bones. Salt gun, iron poker, combustible fuel, everything they needed was in there. 

On top of the desk was Dean's wallet and the keys to the Impala. Swiping them, he headed out the door. There was only one place he could think of that Dex would take Dean. The same place Dean had kicked his ass. Dexter had been vengeful like that when he'd been alive, no reason he'd change now.

As he turned the car onto the street at high speeds, it kicked up a lot of sand and salt mist. For one crazy split second, he thought about how irritated Dean would be since he'd just polished up _his baby._ Then he thought about how much he'd welcome Dean's teasing and egg him on about it. But first, he had to get Dean back because nothing, and no one, especially not Dexter, was going to hurt his family. It had been part luck and part hard work, but he and Dean and Emily were a family now, a strong one. Sam would do this for all of them. Despite what Dean said, a part of Sam felt like he'd failed Emily by being stuck in his relationship with Dexter and not being able to get her away from him sooner, from letting her see him get mistreated. But he wasn't about to fail either of them now. "No way," he said through gritted teeth, gunning the car.  
*

Dex's ghost beat Dean during the high-speed ride to the construction site, tossing him around the inside of the car. Even so, Dean was not expecting the car to slide sideways into the old hospital lot and the door to fly open, tossing Dean out onto the ground in the process. 

The car door swung shut and the engine revved while Dean slowly got to his feet, his gaze transfixed on the car. He started to back up toward some of the debris piles when the car's wheels spun in the snow and slush and car lurched forward. Dean swore as he dove over some broken up concrete and concrete blocks. The car smashed into the debris and had to back up, hunting for a way around which it quickly found. 

Dean was pretty sure the ghost was just playing games with him as he dodged the car again and again. He'd taken enough jumps, dives and rolls that his leg was screaming agony at him. Without a doubt, it was gonna give out on him soon. If he hadn't been slammed into by the bed the night before, he was sure he'd have had more time to play 'Death Race 2000' with Dex. He gave a pained bark of laughter, wondering morosely how many points he would be worth. Shit, instead of a Death Race pedestrian why couldn't he be the gimp-legged Road Warrior Mad Max and have explosives or even a shotgun at hand?

*

When Sam arrived at the construction site, his blood ran cold. The old hospital had been demolished and the large lot was full of debris. In the middle of it, Dean was running, dragging one leg and rolling away from the car chasing him. He could see that a lot of crates and equipment had been damaged, and that Dean was covered in mud, which meant that the car must have been going after Dean for quite a while.

Turning the wheel, he tried to get between the Cadillac and Dean but, all of a sudden, a huge pile of wood planks was thrown in front of the Impala and he almost lost control of the car. Cursing loudly at the bumpy ride, he turned the car around and once again tried to block the Cadillac.

Dean heard her. His baby. The Impala. He glanced over toward the lot entrance and saw Sam behind the wheel, a determined look on his face. The car careened over a pile of boards that fell in its path, then Sam tried to block the Caddie from going after Dean again.  
"Sam!" Dean screamed at him. What if the Cadillac T-boned the Impala or worse? He had to keep that _thing_ after him. "Dammit Sam! Do the job! Focus on the job!" But what if Sam had panicked and hadn't brought anything along? Maybe he should try to get in the Impala. If the Cadillac let him even get that close. 

With the window rolled down, Sam could hear Dean's orders. Did Dean really expect him to let the car run him over? Shit, shit, shit, it was hard on Dean's heels and Sam was sure it hit him before Dean dove under a tractor. "Dean!" he shouted when the car slammed into the tractor and he couldn't tell whether a part of the tractor had been pushed on top of his husband. "Dean!" 

Stopping the Impala in its tracks, Sam grabbed the duffel bag and, throwing the door open, ran out toward the Cadillac and tractor. "Dean, you alright? Dean?" he kept calling out, trying to be heard over the racket that the wrecked Cadillac was making. It could be his imagination but it sure sounded like the gas pedal was being depressed repeatedly, like it was preparing to run the tractor over. 

"No! Dex... I'm right here, you asshole. Right here," Sam shouted as he got the red gasoline container open.

"Hey Dex!" Dean shouted, trying to keep the ghost focused on him, "I see you're still having trouble getting it up. Is that because I shot you in the nuts or were you always impotent?"

The car slammed into the tractor again and Dean cursed as his coat got pinned to the ground by the tractor. If the tractor toppled over, it could well end up crushing him beneath it. _On the bright side, I'm off my leg and catching my breath,_ Dean thought as he tried to tug his coat free. His good leg was throbbing from the glancing blow it had taken when the caddie nailed him before he made it under the tractor. The ground was wet and cold and if he hadn't been soaking wet before, he was now. 

Sam couldn't see Dean so he hoped that meant Dean had made it under the tractor and to safety, but he feared finding out what condition his husband was in at this point. As he approached, he heard Dean taunting Dex. Was he crazy? "Dex... you want me? Then come get me," he shouted, running to close the distance between himself and the Cadillac. 

Arms stretched out, Sam tugged the Cadillac's door open and started pouring the gasoline into the car. Dean had told him they had to burn some specific, physical remains of Dex like hair or fingernails or blood, but obviously there wasn't going to be any way to search the car what with it going all 'Christine' on them. If he burned the whole damned car, he figured it would accomplish the same thing.

The Cadillac started to back up but Sam leaned further in and poured the rest of the gasoline into the back seat area. Dex must have stepped on the gas because suddenly, Sam was dragged a ways and had to throw himself clear of the car. On the ground, he got a good look at Dean, unable to prevent the small smile when he saw that Dean looked okay.

Unable to get his coat free, Dean struggled out of it. He didn't want to be pinned where he was if Dex took another run at the tractor. The car spun around, like it was contemplating going after Sam who was on the ground. Dean glared at Sam. If Sam would cut out baiting Dex, then Sam could finish lighting the bastard up. Hopefully Sam remembered the salt and had thought to bring a lighter. 

"Hey pansy ass, I hear they still laugh about you back in your gang. You can't control your fuck-puppet, can't pull your dick out fast enough when fucking a girl, Jesus, Dude, can you do anything right? You can't even toast an FBI agent when you had him outnumbered! What a useless sack of puss you are!" Dean was ready to slide out of the way if Dex made another run against the tractor.

As the car started coming back towards them, Sam gave Dean a chagrined look but moved into action. Grabbing the bag again, he pulled out a sack of salt. When the car was close enough, he ran in front of it, hoping Dex would concentrate on him and not Dean because he wasn't so sure Dean could get out from under the tractor that fast.

He heard Dean shouting at him, but suddenly his world narrowed. One thing. He just had to get one thing right. 

Dodging to one side, he saw the car follow, and he moved again, in a tight circle, reaching for the car door and pulling it open. He hurt his hand in the process but the important thing was that the door was open. Tossing the salt bag inside, he flicked the lighter in his hand. The car swerved, its door hitting him and sending him to the ground on his ass. Cursing, he managed to light up and throw the steel lighter into the car.

As it caught fire, Sam started to scramble back away from it. "Dean!" Pulling to his feet, he ran toward the tractor. The sound of the car revving up had him running faster. "Dean!" he shouted, seeing him holding onto the tractor tire and straightening. Reaching him, he put his hand around Dean's waist and started helping him run across the lot. "C'mon... c'mon," he urged, his eyes zeroing in on the crane. 

"The Impala's closer," Dean complained as Sam guided them away from the Cadillac and the Impala and toward the large crane. "You don't expect me to be able to climb into its cab, do you?" 

"Just get behind it," Sam answered. He felt heat at his back, heat from the burning car. "Be safe," he added, shoving Dean toward the crane and running in the opposite direction. It was his turn to do the running.

"I'm right here Dex, right here," Sam yelled. "You lost your punching bag, then you lost your life, and now... you can't even take me with you, can you? Can't get anything right. Cause you're a fuck-up, a big, royal fuck-up!" He kept shouting until the burning car started to swerve around, then he ran like hell.

"Sam!" Dean yelled at him as he stumbled toward the crane. When Sam ran away from him and egged the car to chase after him instead of Dean, Dean's jaw tightened. "You're not taking him. You don't get to have him, you bastard!" he shouted at the car and limped on toward the crane. He had to protect Sam. He had to. Grunting with pain and exertion, he began pulling himself up the handholds and footsteps. He slowly pulled himself up and up until he reached the door and gripped the handle to open it. Hearing the engine of the car rev, he turned, watching Sam run, leading the burning car through the maze of debris. He froze and let himself sink down to sit on the edge of the top step. The knowledge hit him right between the eyes and his gut twisted itself into knots. No, he didn't need to save Sam. Sam needed to do this. He needed to be the one to make this happen. That didn't stop Dean's heart from pounding furiously in his chest as he watched the car chasing his lover, his husband, his everything.

As the burning car slammed into some concrete posts, Sam came out from behind them. He was splattered with mud and bruised, but he barely felt any pain. Right there, he remembered the number of times Dexter slammed his face into the wall for imagined infractions or just plain kicks. "How do you like it, Dex? Not so fun when you're the one getting messed up, is it? You're a fucking mess. Get cleaned up," he yelled, echoing words Dex had yelled at him more times than he could count.  
He wasn't surprised when the car went after him again. It almost got him, too. He dove away, then crawled out from under a pile of splintered crates. "Remember the construction site? You remember when you put me in the hospital?" Sam shouted, tasting a little blood. "Payback's a bitch."

With that, Sam started running for his life. He could hear the car behind him, hear its engine revving, feel the heat of the fire, smell burning metal and plastic. It was closing on him, just like Dex used to. Only Sam used to try to keep quiet, not wanting Emily to hear, wanting to protect her. Now it was just him and Dex, and he yelled all he wanted as he dove one more time.

The car followed at high speed and couldn't stop in time to avoid tumbling into the deep trench. Hands gripping a pipe, Sam's feet dangled over the burning car in the ditch. "G'bye mother fucker." He closed his eyes and gripped the pipe tighter, knowing the explosion was imminent.

"Sam!" Dean shouted and jumped down from his perch, fearing Sam had jumped into the drainage trench and Dex followed him down. _No, no, no!_ was the only thing coursing in his mind as he ran toward where he'd last seen his lover. His leg gave out on him more than a couple times, but he just pushed himself back up and kept running.

The revving of the engine grew louder, the sound of squealing, screaming belts, glass shattering, flames crackling and burning all crescendoed until the trail of black smoke climbing up into the sky turned into a brief column of fire and then dark smoke as the thunder of the explosion vibrated under Dean's feet. "Sam! Oh, God, no! Sammy!" Dean screamed, tears sliding down his cheeks as he raced that last twenty feet, collapsing at the side of the trench, looking down into it, afraid of what he'd see.

"Dean." Sam's throat was a little raw. He cleared it and tried again. "Dean, I'm okay. I'm here," he called out, swinging his body toward the wall of the trench to try to dig his feet into it so he could climb, but the soil started to crumble.

"Sam? Sam! God dammit, you scared the fucking life out of me! I'll get a rope. Just hang on. Don't move. I'll be right back. You're okay? You sure you're okay?"

"Think so," he answered, trying to swing one more time. "Shit!" The trench started to cave in, the pipe loosening and bending as the soil gave way. "Dean.... Dean!" he shouted, looking down. He could survive the fall but if the trench caved in...

"No! No, Goddammit, not losing you!" Dean shouted, seeing the crumbling debris, remembering the explosion in the cave, the shove Bobby gave him, of Bobby dying, of him lying in the cave-in figuring he wasn't ever going to see light of day again, and then sometimes wishing he hadn't. He could smell that musty smell of the cave, taste the fear once again as adrenalin poured into his body. He looked around wildly for something, anything. The Impala. He had rope in the Impala...  
He didn't even think. He simply got up and ran. Ran as fast and as hard as he could. The Impala's engine was still purring. Dean got into the car and punched the gas, getting back to the trench as fast as possible. He grabbed the rope out of the trunk and tied it to the steering column, then tied a loop in the end so Sam had something to hold on to or put over his shoulder. 

"Sam, rope. I got rope. It's tied off at the car so if the sides of this trench give, you just hang onto that god-damned rope and I'll pull you out. You ready? I'm gonna toss it to you."

"Yeah." Even as he agreed, Sam could see the edge of the trench failing, dirt falling into the trench in a line coming toward him. "Go... Dean go," he shouted, the thought of taking Dean with him and of leaving Emily completely alone panicking him. "Dean!"

Dean felt the ground begin to go soft beneath him. There was only one choice if he was going to save Sam. Slipping his arm, shoulder and head through the loop, he pushed off into the trench and grabbed hold of Sam, carrying them both down. Dirt, mud, rubble, and rocks rained down on them and the rope suddenly pulled taught. Dean hung onto Sam with everything he had. He just kept his eyes closed and mouth shut until the debris seemed to stop. He opened his eyes. "Sammy? You okay?"

Sam's shout was lost in the sound of crumbling soil and the falling of pipes around them. Then they were swinging at the end of the rope, covered from head to foot with mud and debris, but they were alive. He coughed and gripped Dean. "Except for my ribs. Who knew you were this strong?" He spit out some dirt. Seeing the deep concern in Dean's eyes, he gave a smile. "I'm fine, Dean. Alright... I'll say it..." The rope swung a little more. "My hero," he said, brushing his mouth lightly over Dean's.

Dean stared at him dumbly for a moment, then gave a relieved laugh. "You ever do anything like that again..." Dean kissed him then looked up. "You strong enough to climb up the rope?"

"You bet. I mean, we've still got a Christmas tree to cut down and drag home..." Grinning, Sam started to climb up. "Dean, stop staring at my ass," he said, without even looking down. 

"Why? It's a damned fine view from this angle."

Sam started to scramble up over loose soil to get to more hard earth. Reaching one hand over the other, he dragged himself to safety and then started to pull the rope up, helping Dean with his efforts. 

Dean groaned at the thought of having to drag a tree home and decorate it and shit. He wasn't entirely certain that he was even going to be able to move by nightfall. And he'd promised Sam dinner at the diner for their anniversary. When he felt the rope being pulled up he began to climb until he hit the crumbly edge. With effort, he got his good leg up, found some solid ground, and leveraged himself up and out of the trench. He lay on his back, panting, looking at Sam. He knew he had to be a mess, blood on his face, probably a black eye, coated in mud, soaked through to the bone and it was fucking cold out, even if it wasn't below freezing. Sam, honestly, didn't look much better.

"Let's get a tree tomorrow. Right now, let's go home, shower and let the diner cook for us tonight. Whaddaya say?" 

"I was kidding," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Okay... we'll get up on the count of three," he promised, though the thought of just laying there was very tempting. Except for the part where they'd likely freeze to death. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up and then helped Dean get up. "Can't believe you did this day in and day out. Seriously..." Groaning as he bent over to pick up the duffel bag, he straightened. "I should drive. Your leg..."

"It usually wasn't quite this exciting," Dean said, letting Sam help him up. Reluctantly he agreed to let Sam drive, provided he could listen to one of his classic rock tapes cause kicking ghostly ass just wasn't the same without an obligatory ride in the Impala with classic rock blaring on the speakers...even if it had been years since he'd had both an Impala and hunted. "Mostly, you avoid getting caught as you dig up graves, behead some vamps, or exorcise the occasional demon. A lot of times it was researching and watching for articles that smacked of curses or supernatural crap. Hustling for money in bars, cockroach-infested dives, greasy spoon diners, mini-mart coffee..." He trailed off giving Sam a smirk. "I guess you had to really love hunting, or have a serious hard on for vengeance to appreciate or enjoy the life-style. It was the only one I ever knew until the cave-in."

"So... you had a serious hard on?" Opening the passenger side door, Sam smirked back, though he wasn't sure how clearly Dean could see his face through all the mud.

"Only when you're around, Sammy," Dean said, squeezing Sam's shoulder. "I mean, hell, I was an innocent until you came into my life and corrupted me with your wicked ways of decorating the house for Christmas, putting pictures in these things called frames, folding laundry, doing dishes..." 

"And _doing_ other things," Sam grinned, then closed the door after Dean. Walking around the car, he took care of the rope and threw the bag into the back, then joined Dean. "Let's go home, so I can corrupt you some more," he said, throwing the car into reverse.

"My coat. It's by the tractor," Dean said. "Assuming you can get it loose of the tractor, but hunter rule number nine: don't leave anything behind that the authorities could trace back to you."

Sam gave a nod and drove over to the tractor. Walking around the end of it he saw the coat, grimacing when he saw the blood on the ground. His husband's blood...Dex was lucky he was already fucking dead. After a bit of struggling and cursing, he finally freed the coat and returned to the warm car, handing it over to Dean after re-settling behind the wheel.

They were both quiet on the drive home. Sam kept replaying his showdown with Dexter over and over in his mind. He couldn't help thinking about the past, even though he'd gotten pretty good at putting it behind him. Things were different now. He was happy. He had everything he could want. Emily safely at his side, a man who not only looked like a slice of heaven but who loved him back, a house, even a dog. Yeah, he'd do it again, put the past where it belonged.

"You know what I want?" Dean said when they pulled onto the drive leading to the salvage yard. "I want one of those fancy tubs with the jets and stuff. If we rip out the closet in the guest bedroom and take out the regular tub, we'd have plenty of space for one of 'em. Wouldn't it be just awesome to get home, strip, rinse off this mud, then both of us climb into one of those tubs and just soak in the heat, maybe making a little heat of our own." 

"We could do that," Sam nodded after considering the possibilities. "Yeah, why don't we?" He stopped in front of the house and saw the dog move the curtains. A peace settled around him and he took Dean's hand and squeezed it, exchanging a look with him. He couldn't speak, but he was sure Dean understood him. 

Dean smiled at Sam, seeing the love in his eyes and squeezed his hand back. "You know, a year ago today was the luckiest damned day of my life. Today's pretty damned good too because now I know you two are safe...and I think we oughtta go hit the pound, pick up a young dog for Emily for Christmas. Rummy's slowing down. Another year or two and he needs to be a retired pooch flaking out by the fireplace...And I'm proud of you Sammy. You were a pretty kick-ass hunter out there with that ghost."

"We could sit here and argue about who was the lucky one that day, or we could go in and take that shower and you could keep telling me what a kick ass hunter I am," which Sam knew wasn't true, but he'd risen to the occasion, "while I take care of your hunter's hard on, or you know, make sure you have one." Closing the distance between them, he kissed Dean, this time giving him a real kiss, even though it tasted of dirt and blood. When he pulled away, he had big smile on his face, "We'll talk about the puppy later."

They both got out and Sam put an arm around Dean as they headed for the porch. Unlocking the door, he grabbed Dean's shirt jacket before Dean got too far. "Mind dropping your clothes here? Not trying anything, just... you know, less mud in the house," he said as he started to strip.

"Bullshit. You're kinky for naked outdoor sex," Dean teased. He tried to lean over to undo his shoelaces, but his body wasn't co-operating. He sat down on the steps, not wanting to get his porch swing muddy, pulled off his boots, then stood up and stripped off his shirt. "Wanna help me out of my jeans?" he asked, though he was so freaking cold he wasn't sure if even Sammy was going to be able to coax his cock to come out and play. 

"Hmmm?" Sam caught himself staring at Dean, standing there, bare-chested and sporting erect nipples, with the snowy backdrop behind him. Feeling heat stealing up his cheeks, he cleared his throat. "Wonder how much models that end up on romance book covers get paid," he muttered, stepping in front of Dean and reaching for his belt buckle. As he undid it, he tugged Dean closer and leaned in, kissing him. Dean's chest felt hot against his, though everywhere they weren't touching, he was freezing. 

Dean looked up into Sam's eyes after the kiss and murmured, "Mid-summer, Em at a sleep-over, barricade on the drive so no customers...we so have a date doing a repeat of this." He wrapped his arms around Sam and kissed him deeply, as if sealing that promise. ...But, shit, he was fucking freezing. "Okay, clothes off, get inside where we aren't freezing our dicks off."

"No freezing them off, we'll need them in the shower." Sam grinned, dropping down to pull Dean's pants all the way down and letting him step out of them. Leaving his shorts on, he smacked Dean on the ass. "I'll be right behind you," he said, toeing his boots off and peeling off his socks. "Fuck... cold," he complained as his warm feet practically stuck to the freezing cold floor. He shucked his pants as quickly as he could and followed Dean inside, slamming the door shut.

"Downstairs shower," Dean said, taking Sam's hand and leading him back to the spare bedroom that had become Sam's equipment room. Rumsfield barked and jumped around them as if jealous they got to play in the mud and snow and he didn't. "You aren't winning any points on me convincing Sam to get you a girlfriend if you keep that up," he told the dog.

"Maybe she'd keep Rummy busy." Bringing Dean's hand up, Sam kissed it and then made a face at the dirt that transferred to his mouth. Slipping past Dean, he got into the bathroom and reached into the shower enclosure to turn the water on. "Wish I'd done _that_ a lot sooner. I mean years ago. Dex," he admitted, turning around. Just when he thought he was about to go sappy and emotional, he got an eyeful of Dean in the mirror. And himself, standing next to him. And they looked ridiculous, lily white from neck down, but muddy and dirty from their elbows to their hands and from the top of their heads to their collar bones. He couldn't help himself, he started to laugh until he was shaking so hard he could barely pull his shorts off to get in the shower. 

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head at Sam's sudden fit of laughter. He'd seen it all before, the filth and mud or whatever, all over exposed skin, while protected skin was clean as a whistle. He helped Sam get his shorts down, then returned the favor of smacking him on the ass. "If you had done it years ago, you wouldn't have Emily, you wouldn't have me, you wouldn't have this home, and you'd probably be in jail. Or dead when his ghost came after you and you didn't know how to get rid of it." He cupped Sam's face between his hands. "You know what I want, more than anything, for Christmas? You to stop beating yourself up over staying with Dex. Please, Sammy. It's over." Dean gave him a gentle kiss then pulled back and looked at him. "Now get your sexy ass inside that shower so I can take total and complete advantage of you...after you've washed off that mud skin-treatment you're trying out."

"Okay. I mean on _all_ counts," Sam answered, holding onto Dean for another few seconds. If anyone could make him forget and forgive himself, it was Dean. Without turning away, he stepped into the shower and pulled Dean inside with him. As soon as the hot water sprayed over his head, he closed his eyes and reached for the shampoo, smiling a little as he intentionally made a great show of missing it and touching Dean in places and ways that were sure to make Dean follow through on his threat.

"Sammy! Fuck! Your hands are like ice!" Dean complained, but made no move to stop Sam's roaming hands. Instead he picked up the shampoo that Sam couldn't 'seem to find' and squirted some on top of Sam's head, then began massaging it in. "I think you'd look good in a mohawk," Dean said conversationally as he spiked Sam's soapy hair into one.

Shaking his head, Sam waited for the water to wash the dirt off his face before opening his eyes. "I think I'd look better all over you," he said, running his hands up and down Dean's back, using the friction and hot water to warm them up before settling his hands on Dean's firm ass, squeezing gently as he pulled him closer. "Still got mud on your neck," he whispered, having been about to nuzzle Dean's neck. 

"Of course you'd look better with me. I'm the handsome one. OW! Hey, no biting the neck! I was gonna add you're the charming one, but now I'm not sure. If you're a vampire, I might just have to deal with you by a little _be-heading,_ " Dean said, reaching between them and taking hold of Sam's cock. "So, do you want to be headed? Hmmm?" 

Sam looked wide-eyed at Dean before recovering. "Is that an example of sick hunter humor? Almost as bad as mentions of sharp teeth during a blow j-" The jolt of heat surging to his cock had Sam gripping Dean for support. "Keep doing that, and you can say anything you want," he said, closing his eyes and trying to remember to breathe as Dean stroked his cock. "Wonder if a devil's trap would keep your hand _right_ there."

"That could be awkward after a while, to have my hand right there. And _you'd_ get to explain it to everyone." Dean smiled as he watched Sam's face contort with pleasure. He ran his other hand along the bruising on the side of Sam's face and the couple dark bruises on his chest. "No more pain. Just pleasure," Dean said softly. "And a happily ever after." He leaned in, letting the water wash away some of the mud from his face, then gently kissed Sam, sucking lightly on his still swollen lip, before sliding his tongue into Sam's mouth. His hand kept a slow steady pace on Sam's thickening cock. 

"No more pain," Sam breathlessly agreed, thrusting his hips lightly. "No more diving under tractors and giving me a heart attack," he said, massaging Dean's head as he washed his hair, though his hands were nowhere near as steady as when he was giving a real massage. Right now, he was distracted, his own pleasure building with every slide of Dean's hand. 

As Dean kissed him again, Sam ran his foamy hands down Dean's back and sides. His guy was so strong, so damned strong, and not just on the outside. Dean would do anything for him and for Emily. He'd put his life on the line for him so many times already, pushed his endurance even with his bad leg, and Sam just knew this was the tip of the iceberg. He was in the arms of a man who was the exact opposite of Dexter. He'd done something right, very right in choosing this man, in forging a family with him, in giving him his heart and trusting him with his body. "Love you. Love you, Dean," he whispered between kisses, running his hands over every inch of the man he loved with all of his heart.

"And you, no more making yourself a target or having a ghost chase after you. Even if you do run like Speedy Gonzales." Dean felt muscles simply relax at the mere brush of Sam's touch on him. "Love you too, Sammy. No one is ever taking you away from me. It's me and you, for always." Dean gave some long soapy strokes to Sam's cock. "Is now a good time to mention I knocked over your case of oils and some kinda got broken?" 

"Wha-" As Dean worked his cock, heat swept through Sam, stealing his train of thought and words. His eyes closed and he swayed towards Dean, a soft moan breaking from him. "Not... not really, cause I can't get worked up about...ngh... about that when you're ... fuck, Dean," he moaned again, sliding his fingers down along Dean's ass crack and lightly teasing his hole.

"Yeah. Kinda the point," Dean said, smirking, but his own breath hitched when he felt Sam's fingers at his hole. "Mmm, baby, yeah, that feels good." He added a gentle twist to the stroking he was giving Sam. "I've told you before, you know if you ever wanna top, you just gotta say it. You can fuck any part of me you want to. I'm yours." Dean began raining kisses along Sam's jaw, then sucked on his neck, pausing long enough to spit out some soap bubbles. "We need better tasting soap," he murmured before wiping away the soap with one hand, then went back to sucking on Sam's neck as he stroked him faster.

"You bet you're mine," Sam readily agreed, ghosting his own mouth across Dean's neck and making his way to his ear, tonguing it. "I do want to fuck you. Gonna tongue fuck you on the bed," he rasped, pulsing his finger against Dean's now quivering hole before slowly pushing inside him. He might have dropped down on his knees to do just that, if they hadn't both been injured. "Get you hot and hard for me. Then I want you to fuck me, nice and slow." Nothing even close to this could have ever happened with Dex, nothing. Sam wasn't surprised anymore when Dean asked him what he wanted, when he made it clear nothing was off bounds, and when he managed to control himself no matter how hard or excited he was, but a part of Sam always couldn't believe it was quite true.

Dean groaned in response to Sam's words, the dirty talk sending blood straight to his cock, and he gave a soft sound as he felt Sam's finger penetrate him and curl inside of him. He bit down on Sam's neck and sucked harder, his free hand searching out one of Sam's nipples. "Fuck you. Slow. You might have to remind me...of that. The slow part," Dean said, tossing his head back as Sam worked his own special magic on him.

"For the record, I am _always_ hot for you, Sammy," Dean panted out between soft moans. "I guess I better start making that more clear to you. Like on the kitchen table, or in front of the fireplace, or on the stairs. One look from you and hard isn't a problem, either."

"Oh God... you're changing my mind. Might want it hard and fast," Sam groaned, moving his finger faster in and out of Dean, loving how he squeezed his muscles around his finger. As Dean played with his nipple, a shudder ran through Sam. "Oh God," he repeated, his mind going hazy. Closing his hand around Dean's wrist, he pulled Dean's hand off his cock, then stepped closer and pulling Dean closer, his finger still lodged in him, he started to thrust against Dean, moaning softly. "So good... so good Dean," he panted, seeking Dean's mouth with his, kissing him with all the love he felt inside.

Smiling against Sam's neck, Dean loved the edge he heard in Sam's voice and the way his touch made Sam excited. When Sam pulled him close, he ran his hand down Sam's back, finding a bit of soap there yet, and ran his own fingers down his lover's crack and to his hole. If he was going to fuck Sam, he'd need to loosen him up, after all. The kiss Sam gave him made his head spin and for a moment all he could feel was the heat of Sam's body against him, the feel of Sam inside him, the feel of both their cocks pressing and rubbing against each other as the hot water rained down over their bodies. 

Feeling Sam's hole pucker and throb beneath his touch, he slowly worked his finger in even as Sam thrust against him.

Sam exhaled sharply and squeezed his eyes shut against the slight discomfort until Dean's finger sank inside him. He knew what was coming next and tensed slightly, moaning when Dean moved his finger just right, sending a jolt of heat through him. "Yeah... right there," he said, moving his body back against Dean's finger and then thrusting his cock against Dean's, rubbing against him, showing him how much he needed him.

It was almost magical--fuck, maybe he had been watching too many Disney flicks with Em--but dammit, it felt so right and so perfect to be there with Sam. Thrusting against one another, giving each other pleasures like only lovers could, Dean wondered how he'd ever been content before Sam had entered his life. Shutting his eyes, he realized suddenly that he hadn't been. He'd never known lasting happiness, not until Sam. 

"Love you," Dean rasped out, more emotion in those two words than he'd ever expressed before. The sudden sting of tears came to his eyes as he increased his pace. 

Dean's voice was so husky and full of emotion that Sam had to lift his head and search his face. His lips quirked as he basked in Dean's love. "I know. You tell me every day," he answered, still moving against Dean. "It's in the way you look at me. The little things you do for me. I hear it in your voice, I feel it in your touch. It's never gonna be over between us, Dean... never," he promised, bringing his mouth over Dean's and fucking against him harder, pushing them both toward the finish line.

Dean kissed Sam hard then had to break off the kiss as they pumped and rubbed faster and faster against one another. "Now, Sammy, now..." he whispered just before the orgasm ripped through him, his cum a practical fountain between them.

"Dean," Sam's moan was muffled against Dean's mouth as he came with Dean, closing his arms around him and kissing Dean back for all he was worth. He wasn't sure which of them had stumbled, but he felt his back hit the tile. It hurt like hell but he smiled through it, his lips still pressed against Dean's. "You're amazing," he said between panted breaths. "Take my breath away." 

"Damn straight," Dean said grinning, giving Sam a few light kisses as he tried to catch his own breath. He was pretty much bearing all his weight on his good leg--which was aching from where the car had played pinball with him. "We may have put in a bigger water heater when we redid the pipes, but the hot water isn't gonna last forever."

"Hot water?" Sam blinked. "Oh... that." Giving a slightly self-conscious laugh, he insisted on another kiss before taking the soap. "Gimme two minutes." He could tell Dean's leg had had it for the day, so he'd get them both cleaned up as quickly as he could and then get him to rest in bed or in front of the T.V.

* * *

It was almost eight o'clock and they were sitting in bed, watching TV. They'd made love again, caught a bit of rest, and grabbed takeout from the diner. The food long since eaten, now Dean was channel surfing. Lacey had Emily in hand and they'd decided to let her sleep over. It had seemed like a good idea. At least earlier.

Sam shifted in bed, looked at the door, then back at the T.V. "Nothing on?"

"Disney stuff, Christmas specials, and reruns." Normally he was cool with reruns if he liked the show, but it just didn't feel right. He wasn't interested in it tonight. The way Sam's gaze kept drifting to the door, the way Sam was more restless than a dog with fleas, he knew exactly what was going through Sam's mind. Because it was going through his, too. 

"Okay. That's it," Dean said, turning off the T.V. and throwing back the covers. "We're gonna watch one of those schmoopy chick-flick Disney princess cartoons _after_ we call Lacey, tell her to wake up Emily, and we're gonna stop and get hot chocolate with whipped cream for all three of us and eat cookies in bed with Em safe between us. Get dressed."

"Really? Okay!" Sam couldn't help it if he sounded a little like Em when she was excited about something. "I could get her. I mean, you can stay home and keep off your leg," he offered, crossing the room to get the jeans he'd left folded on the chest of drawers.

"No way in hell. You drive. I'll stay in the car and hold the hot chocolate." 

"This a good time to mention you're the best?" Sam brushed the hair back from his forehead and pulled the jeans on, then brought Dean a pair of pants. "Need any help?" he asked, dropping a sweatshirt on the bed for him. 

"Course I'm the best. Cause you're too fine to deserve anything less. Do I need help? Normally, I'd say yeah, but that would mean we wouldn't get out of here for another twenty minutes." Dean gave Sam a good long leer then slipped on the sweatshirt and pulled on the jeans. "Boots. I will take help with my boots and then gimme my crutches. We've a princess to rescue." Dean blinked. "Did I just say that? I did not just say that," he groaned. "Maybe we should skip the Disney and do something Christmassy instead." 

"I _knew_ you were into princess movies, just like you're into Love Doctor and Oprah," Sam snorted. "I'll let you and Emily decide what we're watching." He finished getting dressed. "Crutches are downstairs, lemme help you get down there." Putting his arm around Dean's waist, he gave him a kiss, then helped him out of the room.

* * *

Sam walked up the stairs carrying a tray with three hot chocolates topped with whipped cream. He'd doctored up the drinks so that Emily's drink had some colorful candy sprinkles on it. His and Dean's were spiked with a bit of rum. He also had three small bowls of vanilla ice cream. "Em, don't jump on the bed," he called out from down the stairs. He could hear her talking excitedly with Dean and Dean grunting out his answers when she gave Dean the opportunity to talk. 

"How did he know?" she asked Dean, dropping down and then scrambling to get under the covers next to him so she could be in the middle.

"Daddy radar. Might even be better than Popsie radar," Dean said with the utmost of seriousness. "So let's see what's on worth watching. Gotta be something good and traditional even if Christmas is a few weeks off." Dean turned on the TV and began channel surfing. He glanced up when Sam entered the room. "Mmm ice cream," Dean said. "Not as good as pie, but it'll do. Hey! Where are my sprinkles?" Dean said when he saw the sprinkles on Emily's hot chocolate. "You could have at least put 'em on my ice cream."

"Are you serious?" Sam asked, rolling his eyes as he sat down on the bed, then opened up the legs of the tray stand so it was over his lap. He leaned forward as Dean pushed a pillow behind his back, then rested against it.

"You can have some of my sprinkles," Em said, laughing and holding out two fingers so Popsie would know she didn't mean all of them, just two bits.

"That's my girl, sharing is good. C'mere," Sam said, then reaching for her hair took the elastic ponytail holder off. "Feels better?"

"I'm thirsty."

Seeing how she was eyeing the hot chocolates, Sam shook his head. "It's hot, give it some time. How about you start on your ice cream, hmm?" Passing her the bowl, he passed another one to Dean. "Here's your non-pie. Promise to get you some apple pie tomorrow. No sprinkles in your hot chocolate, but something you'll like just as much," he said, passing him the cup so Dean could set it on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

"Rummy!" Emily shouted.

"No... Emily...." Sam groaned as the dog jumped on the bed and he barely saved the drinks on the tray from spilling. "Dean..."  
Dean shrugged. "Dude, he's family, too. Not like he's wet or muddy. Course if we got him a playmate, might keep him occupied." He sipped the hot chocolate and smacked his lips. "Okay, you're forgiven for the no sprinkles. At least on my hot chocolate. Em, no feeding Rummy ice cream while he's on the bed," Dean said, watching Emily and seeing immediately what was going through her mind. He set the hot chocolate back on the nightstand and picked up the remote again.

"Awww. Sorry Rummy," she said, bringing the spoon to her own mouth.

Seeing he'd lost that round, Sam gave a huff. "Stay," he pointed at Rummy who seemed to be trying to creep up the bed. "Lay down." 

"He's clean. We washed him," Em reminded Sam around a mouthful of ice cream. "And blow dried him," she added for Dean's benefit.

Dean laughed. "He let you blow dry him?" He shook his head. "He's gotten spoiled rotten by you two. I never spoil him," Dean said solemnly. He tilted his head and took a bite of his ice cream as he watched the TV to see what the show was. He'd seen it, he just couldn't place it.

"Ha! If you and Emily had your way, he'd be sitting at the dinner table with us," Sam said, then seeing the gleam in Em's eyes, he added a firm, "No."

She took another spoonful of ice cream and then the sound of rattling chains had her looking back at the TV. Startled by the sight of the ghost floating in the air, she leaned back into the pillows, but her eyes were glued on the show. 

"Scrooge," Sam swallowed down his ice cream. "Haven't seen this in years." Just as the ghost of Marlow finished telling Scrooge that Scrooge would be visited by three ghosts, Sam looked down to make sure Emily wasn't afraid. He was about to ask when she spoke up.

"You need salt. Lots. And a salt rifle. And a popsie... but not mine," she added almost fiercely as she advised a very scared looking Scrooge.

Dean looked over at Sam, though he was proud of Emily's reaction to the ghost on the TV. "Don't know about you, but I've had enough of ghosts of Christmases past. Uh, what say we put in Mulan?" he suggested quickly. 

"Uh... yeah," a very startled Sam agreed, his gaze locking with Dean's. "Enough ghosts. Warriors are the way to go." Whether he'd wanted it to be that way or not, it seemed their family was going the way of the warrior. He was sure that he and Dean could keep things balanced and normal, and that everything would be okay. "Hit the play button, it's already in the DVD player," he said leaning over to kiss Dean.

A second later, Emily turned and started to echo Sam, "Hit the play--" Stopping mid-sentence, she started to hum the kissing song.

Heat crawled up Sam's face. "We weren't... I mean... Dean, hit the play button."

Chuckling, Dean began humming the kissing song right along with Emily, handed her the remote, and grabbed hold of Sam's T-shirt and pulled him close for a kiss. "Yeah, we were. But it's okay, cause we're married," Dean said, grinning at Sam.

THE END


End file.
